


Here Comes the Sun

by ajeepandleather



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha!Laura, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regancy, Angst, First Kiss, Fluff, Head Steward!Stiles, House Master!Derek, Multi, Sterek Reverse Bang, Werewolf Reveal, beta!derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 12:15:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11161638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ajeepandleather/pseuds/ajeepandleather
Summary: He has never been known to sit still very well. Apparently that also extended into jobs, because Stiles Stilinski cannot settle on a job even if his life were depending on it. Maybe that will change when he becomes house master to the infamous Hale manor.





	Here Comes the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the 2017 Sterek Reverse Bang!
> 
> It has been a wild ride from start to finish but I couldn't be happier with the results, I am very proud to be posting this and thank you to Thank you also to my wonderful muse [Danielle](http://inkforwords.tumblr.com). Her art is truly fantastic and I appreciate all your help with narrowing down my focus and letting me bounce off ideas. Thank you to Jenny for being a lovely beta who has put up with my truly horrible formatting errors and kept me on track and made sure I kept all the little details that brought this to life.
> 
> I love these two girls to the moon and back and now I hope you as a reader will enjoy the fruits of our labor!

#####  THE HALE HOUSE

It was his father who found the advertisement. “House Steward Wanted” it had read, “In need of a man willing to work full time in organizing house affairs and leading a staff of six in tending to three house masters”. It was inelaborate and in the sixth page of the classifieds.

Commissioner Stilinski had been attempting to find his son a suitable job since the boy had turned eighteen, nearly four years ago. His son was … special. He was naturally curious and never quite got a handle on sitting still. When something caught his interest it took up his entire attention span and he spoke his mind, for better or for worse. But no one could deny his ability to organize chaos. He had an innate talent for focusing on an issue and working tirelessly until it was solved and shuffled away neatly. They had tried every style of work from manual labor to intensive study and everything in between, nothing had retained his interest.

Maybe that’s why the Commissioner had been so adamant about this job, providing as much verbal affirmation as he could when explaining to his son the duties and opportunities as a house steward. It may have also had something to do with he had already gotten his son the job and it would look bad if Stiles backed out now. There had been an application and then a correspondence with the Hale’s housekeeper to iron out the details. All Commissioner Stilinski could hope was that his son found a place for himself somewhere in this world.

***

 

And here Stiles was, at the bottom of a long gravel drive that lead up to a modestly large manor, listening to the cab that brought him as it rumbled back down the road. The house wasn’t as intimidating as some of the others Stiles had seen, not to say that it didn’t radiate the power and strength that all manors seemed to exude. The property was a sizable 3,000 acres; a decent plot of land that had been owned by the same family, for forever it seemed.

The Hales were well established in their reputation for being quiet. The townspeople could go weeks before hearing any news from the Hale manor, and even then it’s often only to know they are still around when their maid or cook went to market for food and amenities.

But it wasn’t as though the family, or well remaining siblings, had no reason for their quiet demeanor. It had been several years since the fire that took a majority of the Hales in a disaster that shook the countryside with its tragedy. The fire had swept through their home with a vengeance not seen before, nearly wiping the Hale name from the face of the world. The Hales left standing, two sisters and a brother, the eldest sibling having just turned 17. After which they had left for several years, venturing to America to live with extended family while the ash settled. It was several more years before reconstruction began, using the money given from insurance policies to return the Hale manor to its former glory. When the Hales returned just three years ago, they came with a small staff and without fanfare, settling back into their family’s home.

Since then the siblings had been known for three things: the fire, their silence, and their inability to keep a house steward.

Over the course of three years, they had managed to chase off fourteen stewards, all claiming the Hale manor a place of immeasurable chaos and “unable to be tamed”. Each man had left in a flurry and looking nearly ten years older than when he arrived. The Hales had grown so notorious in their need, they had to reach beyond the confines of their own town and into lands as far as Scotland to find anyone capable of organizing their home and staff.

As fate may have it, the Commissioner happened to be desperate enough to read as far as page six in the “Help Wanted” advertisements, willing to look past the rumors and he believed he knew the capabilities of his son.

“If anyone can handle such a house, it would be you.” His father had told Stiles, ruffling his already disastrous hair with fondness. Stiles, willing to humor his father and with curiosity itching in his bones, had agreed.

“How difficult could it possibly be?” Stiles mutters to himself, adjusting the grip on his luggage and beginning his walk up the driveway. He took note of the gardens on either side of the gravel. Bright green grass that was left just on this side of wild unlike the usually shorn short lawns of most manors. The trees grew seemingly wild, a beautiful mix of ashwood, English oak, hazel, rowan and silver birch. It was as if the Hales had planted a forest. Amongst the trees Stiles spotted a head of golden curls and a cheeky grin before what he believed was a boy darted off and heard a sharp whistle ring through the air.

Stiles was unsurprised to find himself greeted once he arrived at the front door. The boy - well more like a young man - with curls is there in comfortable clothes and there doesn’t seem to be any large amount of skin or cloth that doesn’t have some smudge of dirt or a streak of grass.  _ The gardener _ , Stiles decides observing the lack of shoes and the pair of pruning scissors dangling from his belt. But he is not alone. A young woman with luscious blond waves tied back loosely and assessing eyes that look him up and down with such scrutiny that Stiles feels exposed and insecure. She wore a simple A-line skirt and a plain blouse, both pressed and powdered neatly.

“Isaac,” The woman spoke, getting the attention of the young man, “Go inform the Hales that their new house steward is here.” Isaac nodded.

“Yes, ma’am.” With one last grin shot his way, he was off in a flash of curls and near silent feet.

“I swear if you track dirt onto my pristine floors again …” The woman mutters softly before redirecting her full attention to Stiles. “You must be Mr. Stilinski. Come in, I’ll give you the tour.” With that she turned to the large front doors and lead him inside. And what an amazing inside it was. There had always been the rumors of what the Hale manor looked like inside, but none of those whispers could do the place justice.

The front room was vast, open and showcased a large, marble staircase with artfully carved banisters that seem to flow with vines and leaves as they lead to the upper levels of the house. On either side there were windows taller than a man that let the natural light of day flood in whether the sun was rising or setting. A great Persian rug adorned the floor in rich colors of red and gold. It was like walking into one of the  fairy tales Stiles’ mother used to tell him. Not so much the castles and royal families but more like the woods filled with fairies and elves, scurrying around just in the corner of his eye. It felt like the grand home the protagonist would stumble upon and ask for shelter, a place that was as mysterious as it was beautiful.

“My name is Erica, I’m the housekeeper and it would do you well to pay attention and listen to me.” Stiles snaps from his reverie and smiles a bit bashfully under the woman’s intense gaze.

“Erica? Erica, I need your help.” Another woman enters the front room wearing an apron and her hair pulled back into a messy braid that is just barely keeping the dark strands out of her face. Her dark eyes are wide and concerned. She was rumpled in a way that spoke of diligent work and eyes crowned with smile lines. “Oh, hello. You must be the new house steward.” She smiles brightly and Stiles finds he instantly adores her.

“Yes, my name is Stiles.”

“What was wrong, Melissa?” Erica turns back to the woman, Melissa, with raised eyebrows. Erica seemed snappish and it was odd watching such an interaction between the two considering the age gap, but it seemed as though this was the usual. It was a system of carefully balanced respect for the older woman and the addressing of Erica’s higher rank in the house. Stiles found it fascinating.

 

“When we ordered the flour this month we asked for wheat flour but we were given corn flour this morning when it was delivered.” Melissa is looking at Erica in exasperation. Erica sighs before turning down the hall Melissa had come from without looking to check if Stiles was following but he’s sure to keep right on her heels and Melissa tailing him. As they walk, Erica continues her tour.

“These doors lead to the staff’s quarters. Your room is the first from the front room so that you’re closer to the Hales when they call for you. Back here is the laundry room, you are to bring and complete your own laundry unless you want your whites to come back pink. I am here to make the Hales happy, not break my back for perfectly healthy young men who aren’t paying me.” Erica’s practiced words are as quick as her feet, and having made the speech several times before. “Melissa is our cook and rarely takes requests, but I am sure you will find her cooking is plenty satisfactory. And here’s the kitchen.” 

 

The first thing Stiles registers upon entering is the sudden heat that presses in on his skin in a way that reminds him of sitting in front of a hearth on cold days. The air is sharp with spices and his mouth almost instantly waters with the scent of roasting meat. All the walls are lined with counters, only broken by various cooking ware, including a stove-oven combo and the latest model fridge. Pots and pans hang from a ceiling rack and fresh produce and a range of food projects are scattered about. Despite the number of pans in use and the multiple cutting boards around the counters, there was a distinct lack of disorganization that reminds Stiles of his father’s work desk. Sure, everything looked scattered and random, but it was a chaos that his father understood.

“I know we ordered wheat flour, I wrote the list myself. I’m sure it was a simple misunderstanding by the grocer. Maybe he’ll take it back and reorder for us within the week?” Melissa supplies from behind Stiles before she comes forward to glare at some sacks of flour in a rather large pantry as if it will magical alter into what she needs by sheer force of her will.

“You can make do without wheat flour for now, correct? It may be a whole two weeks before a new order is processed and delivered. You know how Mr. Sanchez is.” Erica sighs, rubbing her temple.

“I think I could? It would be a bit of a stretch …”

“I think I have a solution.” Stiles inserts himself, hating the tense line of Melissa’s shoulders and the frown taking over Erica’s pretty face.

“And what might that be?” He doesn’t take offense to the housekeeper’s harsh and snappish tone, understanding the pressure she was under.

“I know a man in town, a friend of my father, who runs a bakery. I’m sure I can ask him to give us enough to get by until your next trip to restock. Of course it would be a trade, but I do not doubt he would agree for some of that fine sugar you have. You seem to have more than plenty for a household of twenty, let alone nine.” Erica looks up at him, assessing him yet again and seeming to mull over her options.

“Melissa, would that assist you?”

“Yes, it would very much.” Melissa shoots Stiles a bright grin, if weary.

“Very well. Take whatever resources you need to make this deal happen, Mr. Stilinski, as your first house task.”

“Stiles is just fine, ma’am.” She nods before turning on her heel and leaving the kitchen.

“Thank you for your help, Stiles, but you best not lose track of her, she’s a woman of purpose. God help us lest anyone try to stop her.” Melissa laughs lightly, gently shoving him out the door. Stiles catches up with Erica in the front room where she picks up her tour, not quite as fast but stilled paced above leisurely.

“If you go left of the stairs you will find the library and directly behind the stairway is the ballroom, but that will have to wait for another day.” Erica starts up the stairs and Stiles is careful in following her, all too aware of his clumsy feet as his toes catch on the edge of the very first step. He manages to catch himself and continue after the housekeeper, relieved that she hasn’t stopped therefore likely to not have noticed his fall.   

 

“The second floor consists mostly of the library and Mr. Hale’s office is to your right. You are to knock before entering and never enter without explicit permission. The third floor is the Hale’s bedrooms and the balcony you may have noticed on your way up the driveway.” Yes, he had noticed. The balcony had an ornate railing, carved from stone that had looked like art had built its way into the house’s structure. It was lovely and Stiles mourned the lack of parties held in such a house. Surely that was the perfect place to let music drift up to you from the dancing hall and sip wine as the moon crosses the sky.

 

“It’s very lovely looking.” He says agreeably.

 

“There are a few other rooms strewn about - the music room, a lounge, a parlor downstairs, but I’m sure you can explore those yourself. Beyond this house, there is a guest home about one hundred yards to the east of here and a pool house to the southwest. The gardens have no fence, so do be wary of exploring too far from the house and into the woods. The garage is connected to the house to the west and the stables are just beyond that.” Stiles nods along to Erica’s instructions, taking in all the information so he doesn’t end up looking like a fool wandering the property.

“And what are my duties? My father never explained.” Stiles was sure not to mention that in reality Stiles had been too excited to leave as curiosity tugged at him. He father had enough time to tell him that he had gotten a job at the Hale manor and that it would be a live-in position as the house steward. Stiles hadn’t really listened past that as he scrambled to pack his things and head out as soon as possible.

“As house steward you are to look over all the going-ons of the manor and ensure everything is running smoothly. You lead the staff and attend to the Hales most directly. It’s as if you are the jack of all trades for this house.” Erica smiles up at him and something about it feels like a dare. Underneath the instruction is a question that she isn’t going to ask him out right –  _ are you ready for the challenge, can you handle our chaos? _

“Let’s begin then, shall we?” Erica’s smile widens as he smiles back even as the uneasiness curls low in his stomach.

#####  FIRST DAY

“Good morning, Mr. Stilinski. Time for your first day.” Erica’s overly cheery voice pierces through his hazy morning mind causing him to groan. But he stifles it, unwilling to already be showing signs of negativity towards his new job.

 

The previous night had been short, Stiles had arrived at the manor late in the day, approaching on night, and had just enough time for the tour before needing to turn in for the night to sort out his room. Erica led him back to the door she had previously pointed out and told him to make himself comfortable. It was a large room, larger than the one with his father surely and contained a freshly laundered bed, a dresser, and an empty bookshelf with a closet on one side and a window facing the west. 

 

Stiles unpacked his bag and the boxes that must have been delivered while he was on his tour and likely brought in by Isaac. He took his time putting his clothes away and shelving the books he brought from home. Home. He missed it already, living somewhere for nearly twenty one years made it hard to leave but Stiles refused to let the little hollow place in his chest get to him. At one point Melissa had come in with a tray and a motherly smile. She tsked him gently and informed him it was already nearly ten and he had missed dinner.

 

“I’m sorry, ma’am.” He told her, setting down the clothes he had been folding in favor of taking the tray from her and setting it down on his bed.

 

“It’s plenty alright, honey. And, please, call me Melissa.”

 

“I wasn’t disturbing anyone, was I?” Stiles’ eyes go wide, it’d be just like him to  make an ass of himself on his first day.

 

“Not at all, I just wanted to make sure you ate something and that you were doing alright.” Melissa smiled again, hands folded in front of her and eyes as warm as the kitchen she commanded. It made Stiles’ throat tight to see such an obviously motherly woman and take in how that maternal nature was being directed specifically towards him. It hurt, in the best way the heart can.

 

“I’m awake, are there any pressing matters?” He asks around a yawn, sitting up in bed and stretching out his surprisingly not stiff arms. The bed was exquisite, soft and supportive. If this was how the  _ staff  _ was taken care of, he could only dream of how the Hales slept. 

“Nothing yet.” Erica says with a smirk with the emphasis on ‘yet’, “We do need the issue with the flour solved before dinner, Melissa is hoping to make pan dulce tonight.”

“Yes, of course. How am I to be reached while I’m out if something else needs my attention?” He’s stepping out of bed aware of Erica’s gaze not straying from him as he searches for day clothes. If she isn’t going to make a fuss, then neither will he.

“Isaac can ride out to you if the matter is pressing, otherwise it will just be waiting for your return.”

“Oh goodie.” He mutters unable to reign in his snark, pulling on a pair of slacks and a plain dress shirt from his dresser.

“I’ll have Kira bring you some fresh towels, the ones in the bathroom are from the last steward.” 

 

“Kira?” He asks, holding his clothes as her turns to Erica. She stands there with an eyebrow raised, Stiles shrugs and heads off to the bathroom connected to his room, very aware of Erica’s presence on the other side.

“Kira’s our maid. Lovely oriental girl that Lady Cora took in when the girl had made it into the country but had nowhere to stay. And with a smile that dims the sun or so Scott tells me.” There’s a strange sort of fondness in the woman’s dry and sarcastic tone that sits well with Stiles and his own witty sense of humor. He starts to pull off his pajamas and unfolds his pants from the stack of clothes he brought in.

“And Scott is?” He calls through the door, hoping the woman hasn’t left him as he pulls on his shirt.

“Our butler. A cheery person, only to be rivalled by his dearest Kira. You’ll know him by the slant in his jaw. He is also learning under the town’s medical doctor, Deaton.”

“A butler studying to be a doctor?” Stiles can’t keep the awe out of his voice even as he opens the bathroom door and sheepishly ducks his head, hoping he hasn’t disrespected anyone with his inability to keep quiet. Butlers were not known for their climbing the educational ladder, but it wasn’t unheard of and who was Stiles to judge the man’s intelligence before even meeting him?

“The Hales insisted upon it when he began showing an affinity for the trade when he was younger, running around helping any poor, helpless animal he came across. We haven’t had a formal visit from Doctor Deaton in ages.” Stiles tried to keep his surprise to himself with this next bit of information. It wasn’t common to hear of house masters encouraging their staff to become better educated, let alone paving the way.

“So, he’s been with the Hales for some time?”

“His mother is Melissa. They were taken in by the Hales while they were in America with relatives. Melissa had kicked her husband out for we don’t know what exactly, but I’ve never seen her angry without just cause. She had been struggling to make ends meet and apparently they had just scooped them up. Paid off the debts that Melissa had been struggling with and everything.”

 

“And what of the gardener? Isaac?” Stiles tries to be casual in his inquiry as he pulls on a vest and buttons it over his shirt. He was growing all the more curious of the Hales and their patch work staff. But something in Erica’s face and tone, softly surprised and maybe even a little pleased, told him that he was flailing spectacularly.

“A runaway from a rough home. And then there’s Boyd, he’s the Hales’ mechanic and handyman. He left home to find somewhere he was wanted.” Stiles knew without looking at her as he tied his shoes that she wasn’t just talking about finding a job. This Boyd was her lover, no doubt in the fact, and he smiled at the thought. There seemed to be plenty of love in this manor. Scott and Kira were obviously doting on one another and he knows, even without meeting the man and Erica very much loved Boyd. There was a special kind of love held between Erica and Melissa that would not doubt spread through the entire staff.

“And what about you, dearest Erica? What tragic tale do you harbor?” He cringes a little at his own humor, realizing too late that it could be taken as rude. He wants to snatch the words right out of the air where they hang while Erica’s face shuts down in a way that can only say ‘you are pushing too far’. He stood from his chair, walking up to where she has stood near the door for the duration of the conversation. 

“I was sure I would never live a normal life,” He startles at the sudden continuation of the conversation, Erica seems surprised by her own words as well, but it doesn’t seem to stop her. “I could barely go through a day of simple labor without having problems. But the Hales, they helped me. We’re a band of misfits, Mr. Stilinski, but Lord knows we wouldn’t have it any other way.” Stiles can’t help but stand there for a moment, taking in her words and digesting them. It was clear that this was no ordinary manor house staff and family, but maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. There was something to be said for a family of choice, a type of bond that surpassed blood it seemed.

“The Hales sound like very generous people.” Stiles offered, unable to come up with a better modifier for those he had yet to meet.

“I should also tell you that you are invited to the staff dinner tonight. We try to eat together at least once a week.”

“I would love to join you,” He admits honestly.

“Good, dinner is at seven in the kitchen,” She said and with that, Erica leaves. After a short trip to the bathroom for one last attempt to tame his hair, Stiles is out of his room and heading for the garage. The town center is a significant distance from the manor and Stiles will need to find a way there.

***

 

“Hello?” He asks as he steps into the garage. He is hit with the smell of gasoline and oil, the rubber of tires. He looks around, noting four pristine cars in a line and an open area with a bench of tools and what looked to be car parts. He gapes at the vehicles, nobody owned four cars. Maybe two for those one the higher end of society, but no one had  _ four.  _ Stiles may have shouted when a large dark skinned man seemed to appear out of nowhere when he turned around. The man’s lips quirked as he wiped his hands clean with a grubby cloth. 

 

“You must be Boyd.”

“Yes.” Stiles waited for a continuation, maybe a formal ‘hello’ but all he received was a raised eyebrow as the silence dragged on.

“Right, I’m Stiles. The new house steward.” Boyd’s lips continued upwards and still somehow remained not quite a smile as his eyes darted over to look at the line of cars before returning to Stiles,“Yes, I need a car to get me  into town.” He felt painfully awkward under the man’s gaze but let his shoulders release once Boyd turned to the car closest to them taking his piercing eyes with him.

“This is the staff car specifically. Do you know how to drive?” 

“Yes. And I’m allowed to use it for errands?” Stiles asks. His dad, being the police commissioner, had given him the opportunity to learn how to drive. It was an opportunity Stiles had jumped on and one his dad had regretted when Stiles was then able to follow him to various crime scenes in town. Boyd nods, handing him a set of keys that he had selected off a rack over one of the benches. “Thank you, Boyd.” Boyd smiles, flicking his gaze over him once last time before turning away to his work bench. 

 

Stiles had a feeling that the staff was used to this, sizing up the newest house steward, maybe taking an estimate of how long they would make it before cracking under the pressure. He didn’t blame them for the lack of a warmer welcome, he was content with what he had gotten so far. It must be hard to try to rely on so many different people time and time again only to have them leave you still in need of help. He’s already started the car before realizing he’s forgotten a very key factor in his excursion. He’s out of the car and almost out the garage door when he hears Boyd clear his throat from across the room.

 

“You’ll have to forgive us, Mr. Stilinski, we aren’t very accustomed to having help.” Boyd nods towards the car and Stiles makes his way back over in confusion. His questions die on his tongue when he spots the bag of sugar he needs for the trade in the backseat.

 

***

 

The drive into town isn’t exactly long, but definitely complicated. The driveway itself, as Stiles had noticed on his ride up, meandered through the dense woodland that seemed to act like a barricade between the Hales and the rest of the world. It seemed especially designed to confuse the driver. Stiles can’t help but vocalise his relief once he successfully manages to make it out onto the main road.

 

Once in town, he has no problem finding his way through the winding streets and various roads, having grown up running around everywhere his legs could carry him. It had been his mother that had gotten him to stop him long enough to meet the people around him. They always talked to store owners and vendors on the street, exchanging pleasantries with their neighbors and standing with them long enough to share the latest family news. His mother had been a friendly smile to everyone who crossed their paths and the reason he was on such familiar terms with so many people.

He pulls up in front of the baker’s shop, careful that he parks where the car won’t be in danger of being hit by any one of the travellers around him. Just his luck to take the car out for the first time and manange to be hit by a horse and buggy. Before he even reaches the front door, the smells of fresh bread wafts over to him, once he steps inside it only gets stronger and fill his lungs.

“Stiles! How are you, my boy?” Mr. Williams comes from behind his counter to give Stiles a big hug, patting his back as he pulls him in.

“Hello, Mr. Williams. I’m doing well thank you, how about yourself?” Stiles smiles up at the older man as he’s released. The bakery had always been one of his favorite stops with his mother. Mr. Williams’ shop had always been his and his mother’s favourite stop for the small brightly colored cakes and supposedly reject cookies; Stiles could never find anything wrong with them.

“Doing right well. What can I do for you?”

“The house I’m working for needs wheat flour to tide them over until their next shipment, I was hoping you could help. We’re willing to offer you high grade sugar in return, I’m sure that would mix well for your amazing cakes.” Stiles waggles his eyebrows with a smile. Mr. Williams laughs, nodding.

“Now how can I say no? What’s the trade rate?”

“I was hoping two six pound bags of flour for a single four pound bag of sugar.”

“Deal. Talk with me while I go get you your flour. How’s your father these days?” Mr. Williams said and beckoned him into the storeroom.

 

“He’s doing well. Busy keeping the town safe, you know him.”

“Shame you won’t let him anywhere near my shop, I never run into him anymore.”

“As much as I’m sure he misses your company as well, I’ll make sure it stays that way. He seemed to enjoy your white chocolate and macadamia nut cookies a little  _ too  _ much.”

“Oh well, maybe he’ll sneak in here now that you’re up at the Hale house. What’s that like anyhow? Is it really as chaotic as everyone says? Word is they’re as wild as animals.” Mr. William says with a smile like they were sharing some kind of inside joke.

“Well, I’ve only been there a day, but they seem alright. I haven’t actually met the Hales yet, just most of the staff.” Stiles shrugs before taking up one of the bags as Mr. Williams takes the other and they head out for his car.

“Oh, so they’re recluses even in their home, eh? Should’ve known.” The bags now safely in the backseat, Stiles turns to look at Mr. Williams.

“I’d say they are just busy like any other family,” Stiles says, handing over the bag of sugar to uphold his end of the deal, “No need to be listening to every gossiping aunt.” He can’t pinpoint exactly why he suddenly felt so defensive of a family he barely knew, but something about the man automatically assuming something negative rubbed Stiles the wrong way.

“I guess you’re right.” Mr. William agrees, “Well, it was good to see you, son. Don’t be a stranger.” With that Mr. Williams waves as he goes back into his shop, leaving Stiles to jump into his vehicle and make the trek back up to the Hale manor. Upon arrival, Stiles gets his first dose of the notorious mayhem.

***

 

“Mr. Stilinski?” The woman that runs up to the garage as he’s parking the car - she has thick black hair that she’s attempted to pull back into a bun and a skirt fabric that could really only be described as quirky. 

“You can call me Stiles.” He smiles at her as he climbs out of the car, moving to the back seat to grab the flour.

“Oh, alright. Well, I’m Kira.” She smiles and maybe this Scott fellow is right, it is as bright as the sun. But the smile fades as her eyebrows draw together in concern. “But Mr. St- Stiles, I have a concern.”

“Go on.” His voice comes out a little thin as he focuses on picking up both flour bags and not dropping them while keeping his balance. 

“It’s the upstairs bathroom. We’ve had the issue for ages but we have yet to bring a plumber out to fix it.” She says as he hefts the bag in his grip and hip checks the back door closed.

“And what exactly is ‘it’?” Stiles asked. Kira opens the three doors along the way for him as they make their way to the kitchen. He hurried to the next door in hopes of depositing the sack of flour before the weight and uneven grip strained his wrists.

“A pipe leak. We have a bucket under the sink for it to drip into but it bothers Master Derek and I was hoping you would be the steward to actually get it fixed.”

“Of course, I’ll make sure it gets tended to.” Stiles tells her. Kira flashes another dazzling smile his way as they enter the kitchen. He makes a beeline for the pantry where he deposits the flour and shakes out his aching arms. When he turns around Kira is gone and in her place is the gardener from yesterday, Isaac. 

 

“I’ll guess this isn’t a social call to formally introduce yourself?” Stiles asked.

“No, I can’t say it is. But, if it helps you, my name is Isaac.” The man tells him. Isaac seems pleased to be bringing Stiles another task to complete and he isn’t blind to his ever growing list of duties and he hasn’t even met the family of the house. Stiles had expected work. His father had mentioned that he would ‘never grow bored’ as a house steward, telling him that running a house like this was a full time job. And he wasn’t disappointed, already he was making a plan in his mind of the different steps he would have to take to complete Kira’s pipe problem and his mind whirred with the future meeting of the rest of the staff and even more anxiety inducing; the Hales.

“Well, what’s gone wrong?” Stiles says, gesturing for Isaac to follow his lead as he heads for his room in search of a new shirt. He has flour on this one and it didn’t look like it would be coming out of the grey material any time soon.

 

“We’ve run out of fertilizer because the last house steward quit before ordering any more.” Isaac tells him. He makes a pointed move of going towards his dresser and pulling open the top drawer. He exaggerates the way he pulls out the shirt, leaning towards obnoxious in his movements when Isaac seems to finally catch on, but still doesn’t leave. Instead he gives Stiles some advice. “I wouldn’t bother with changing, you’ll only have more laundry to do. If you changed with every mess made, you’d go through your entire wardrobe twice in a fortnight.”

“And I’m to take your word for it?” Stiles asks and raises his eyebrows amicably while taking a pointed look at Isaac’s dirt spattered attire.

“Absolutely,” Isaac said faux-incredulously, ”If you can’t trust your fellow staff, then who can you?” His words seemed to echo Erica’s as if the words were not just their own. As if there were something they were all trying to say without really saying.

”I suppose you’re right. Is there anything else?” 

 

“Lady Laura would like to speak to you.” 

 

#####  MEET THE HALES

Stiles wasn’t sure what he was expecting, when he walked into the library, but it wasn’t quite this. This wasn’t just any library, Stiles had seen plenty of libraries. There was the public one in the newer part of town that held somewhere between 1500 to 2000 books, but those consisted mainly of public records and the newspaper archives. There were the private libraries that Stiles had talked his way into that had rarer books, usually somewhere between a nice personal set of 100 to the larger end for scholars with 500-600. But none of that could prepare him for the Hale library.

 

The Hales’ library was two floors of floor to ceiling shelves of books. He entered and was instantly enticed by the smell of paper and ink, of leather bindings and sunshine that poured through a skylight and the stained glass windows spaced evenly around the circular room. Stiles could feel the way his lips were parted in awe as he tried to take in every detail of his surroundings but it was hopeless. He could spend weeks in this room alone and not see every title it had to offer. 

 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone drool while conscious.” A voice reaches him through his haze, snapping him back to reality. He looks around and spots a man leaning against the fireplace mantle to his left. The man is holding a large volume, looking up over half moon reading spectacles with a gaze that feels piercing even from nearly twenty feet away. Stiles can only assume this is Master Hale. 

 

“Have you watched people often when they sleep?” Stiles bites his tongue but it’s too late and he watches as the previously neutral face twists into a scowl. 

 

“Are you old enough to be a house steward?” It’s an obvious deflection but Stiles is distracted by the way the man closes his book and stalks forward, placing his glasses on the mantle. He’s handsome in a way that feels traditional and yet oddly not. His hair is closely cropped and his cheekbones are high and sharp, but as he draws closer Stiles is caught by his eyes. They’re an array of colors and he wants to sit down and really examine them, but that’s not what held Stiles’ attention - it was the feeling of missing something. There was something those eyes normally held that he wasn’t being allowed to see and it was tugging at his curiosity something fierce.

 

“Maybe not. Are  _ you  _ old enough to be head of house?” Stiles doesn’t even have the chance to regret poking at the man’s rather sour history that lead to his ascension before the the large doors behind him open.

 

“Derek in power? God help the house that has him as a leader.” Stiles turns around to find a very beautiful woman waltz into the room, putting to shame any idea Stiles might of had of Master Derek being the head of this household. Her back was held straight and tall with a wide, friendly grin on her face and an ease to her walk that left no question to her authority. 

 

“I’m always inspired by your love and support, dear Laura.” Derek says, scoffing as she preens under the mock praise. He walks away, brushing past Stiles’ shoulder as Lady Laura moves towards a seat, settling comfortably into a well worn high back that speaks power and comfort in equal measures. A small part of Stiles wants to call out, bring Derek’s attention back to himself but he tamps that down and labels it irrational.

 

“You must be Stiles, I apologize for not greeting you yesterday.” Laura tells him, gesturing to a set of chairs by the hearth that Derek had previously vacated. 

 

“No apology necessary, I doubt I would have made a very good impression with how tired I was.” Stiles takes a seat in an over stuffed armchair and easily imagines passing his days with a good book and some tea.

 

“Oh but I already find you fascinating, your father told me so much about you.” Stiles takes in the woman in front of him, appreciating her lack of frills and accessories that so many high society women insist upon lugging around. Laura is simplistic but is in no way any less regal.

 

“Don’t lie for my sake, what has he told you?”

 

“Only the best. You’re diligent and creative, through if easily distracted and loyal.” Laura tilts her head as she speaks, as if examining him for all the qualities she lists.

 

“For the sake of my humility, I refuse to confirm and for the sake of my pride I refuse to deny them.” He says. She laughs and the tension in his chest loosens, happy to have made at least progress in making a good impression.

 

“I’ve heard you already have your work cut out for you.” She prompts, folding her hands in her lap.

 

“Yes, I fixed an issue with the wrong flour being delivered this morning and I’m making plans to get the leaking pipe upstairs fixed. I also think I can devise a new way of ordering your house’s supplies so that nothing slips through the cracks, but it would require looking at your record books.”

 

“Of course, I’ll have Derek explain them to you. Don’t be surprised if he’s hesitant to show you though.” Laura sighs, leaning farther back into the plush of her chair. Her earlier bright smiles and sunny disposition seem to be shadowed now and she looks so much older that it makes her look more like what the rest of Beacon Hills thinks she is; worn down and aged beyond her years, sunken in and her beauty marred by her brush with Death.

 

“If it is alright to ask, why would that be?” Stiles says. He feels like he’s treading on thin ice above not just a lake or river, but a cavernous expanse.

 

“I’ll be frank with you, Stiles, you’re here to complete an impossible task. I’ve been attempting to pry those work logs and accounting books from Derek for years. In the beginning it seemed almost cathartic for him, something systematic and repetitive for him to focus on after the, after the fire.” She sighs, her eyebrows coming together like she’s trying to figure how best to explain, “But it’s been so long that I can’t just let him waste away in here, so I’ve been hiring house stewards hoping that taking away his duties will give him no excuse to sit in here all day. As you may have noticed, it hasn’t gone so well.”

 

Stiles knew what that was like. He had seen what happened to people who hid in their work, saw it first hand in his father. After his mother’s death it was as if all his father was capable of was working until he dropped, then he would pass out before going right back to work. It was like living with a robot and it was scary to see this thing where your loved one’s face and walk around like they’re just as dead as the one you lost. 

 

“I promise to ensure he has no reason to lift those records from their shelves ever again.”

 

***

 

“Come on in, Stiles, dinner is just about done.” Melissa beckons him into the kitchen before turning back to a pot she has simmering on the stove. The room is full of familiar faces and who he can only guess is Scott who he has yet to meet outside hurrying past each other in hallways as they work. The air is heavy with scent of roasted meat and seasoned vegetables, especially warm with the addition of body heat from so many people.

 

“Hi, you must be Stiles.” Erica was right, the man’s jaw is crooked, but it doesn’t detract from how handsome he is. Stiles notes the likeness between this man and Melissa, how the eyes are similarly shaped even as his are darker and the small hook of the nose.

 

“And you are Scott.” Scott smiles as they shake hands and it feels contagious as the smiles spreads to his own face. 

 

“Come help me set the table.” Scott gestures to the table in the adjoining room and Stiles nods before they proceed. They’re setting down dishes and silverware when Stiles can’t keep in his question any longer.

 

“So what is the normal procedure for this house? If the staff only eats dinner together once a week does that mean you make dinner for yourself every other day?”

 

“No, we usually eat dinner with the Hales but once a week they have their own dinner and we have the night to ourselves.” Scott says, eyebrows furrowed as he straightens out a fork at one of the settings. He also procures and little paper crane and places it on the plate with a fond smile. “Kira taught me how to make them a week ago and I finally made one on my own that actually looks right.” Erica was spot on when she called them doting.

 

“Wait, you eat with the Hales?” Stiles pauses from putting down the plate currently in his hand, looking up at Scott in confusion. Scott bit his lip, probably taking in how odd that sounds, because it was definitely weird. 

 

“We do,” Scott says slowly, obviously picking his words, “The Hales are very casual and we’re all very close here.” Scott must deem that a very good response because he smiles before shrugging and walking back to the kitchen.  Stiles follows him while he attempts to piece together all the interactions he’s had with this household and tries to reconcile it with this new information. He isn’t left to his thoughts for long, though.

 

The whole group in efficient and work like a machine that had long since worked out all its kinks and malfunctions. Boyd slices bread while Erica takes them and swipes butter over them and then Isaac sprinkles parmesan cheese and herbs over it before placing them in the oven. Kira chops vegetables to place in boiling pot and Scott is busy cleaning up messes as their made. Melissa directs them all as she calls for help in various little jobs that are quickly handled as she tests the meat in the oven and pours juices over it to ensure it doesn’t go dry. All the while Stiles is left to observe as the system before him unfolds in a blur that feels like a symphony as all the parts come together and create a masterpiece.

 

But there feels like something’s missing. In the delay between Melissa asking for help and Boyd hurrying his slices to have enough time to assist before going back to his bread. In the way Kira nearly slips on spilled juice because Scott hadn’t had the chance to get to it yet in the way Isaac scurries to the oven to put bread in and pull out the previous tray before it burns. Like something’s missing.

 

“Stiles? Can you go to the pantry and grab the seasoned wine? I need about a cup and a half to add to the meat glaze.” Melissa calls over her shoulder. He nods and hurries to the pantry, happy to finally have something to do with his hands rather than just stand in the way. 

 

As he hands Melissa the wine she asked for another person enters the kitchen. He almost mistakes her for another hand maid but there is something distinctly  _ Hale  _ about her.

 

“Cora!” Isaac calls, a great grin on his face as he catches sight of the woman. Ah yes, the second Hale sister, the one to take in Kira. “Can you help with the potatoes?” Stiles practically balks at the thought of the woman doing something as menial as helping in the kitchen. But she does, smiling as she starts stirring the mashed potatoes in the pot by Isaac without hesitation. Very casual indeed. 

 

In a flash that Stiles can’t remember most of they are all sitting around the table with the food steaming, spreading the mouth watering scent. 

 

“Well done, everyone, we managed to make another fine meal,” Melissa says from the head of the table, gesturing to the spread before them, “But before we start, let’s welcome our new house steward.” The table claps as Stiles keeps himself from flushing under all their combined attention. 

 

“Welcome to the Hale manor, Stiles.” Cora pipes up from her seat next to Isaac across the table. She smiles and Stiles can’t help but feel pinned under her gaze like a mouse in the paws of a cat. Isaac elbows her and he is very careful not to let the pure shock of such blatant mutiny show on his face. 

 

“It’s a pleasure to be here, and I think I’ll like more and more as the days go by.” The rest of the table nod in agreement before settling in and dishing out the food. From there it feels like Stiles has never had dinner anywhere else. It all feels like he’s done it a thousand times before despite having always grown up an only child. He’s almost constantly engaged in conversation which suits him just fine, he’s asked what he’s done before and where he’s from. He tells them about his various childhood adventures and they indulge him with the goings-ons of the house and what they get up to on the quieter days when there’s little to do. 

 

It all feels natural and soothes the part of him that misses the mystery discussions his father and he used to have over dinner. Maybe he can bring his father here one day, introduce him to Melissa, show him the horses he had seen on his way into town. Sitting here now, it doesn’t feel like it would be too much of a stretch, it already feels like home.

 

#####  A NICE TRY

Stiles dresses a little slower this morning but he refuses to say it is an avoidance tactic, he’s simply more relaxed today. In the same way that he wasn’t avoiding the library when he searched out Isaac in the great expanse of gardens to ask what type of fertilizer they needed in the next order. He wasn’t stalling when he sat down for coffee with Melissa in the kitchen. He wasn’t dragging his feet down the hall before or after stopping to talk to Kira about the pleasant weather they were having. He had finally run out of small tasks to accomplish before ten that morning which was coincidentally when Laura had told him Derek usually starts works. 

 

It wasn’t like Derek scared him. Sure, the man was largely built, although less bulky than Boyd, and seemed to  _ loom  _ even from a distance. Of course he was impossibly handsome with a jaw that could cut glass and a spotless complexion most women would kill for _.  _ He was worried about what Laura was asking him to do  _ to  _ Derek. 

 

Stiles enters the room, cringing a little at how fast the doors open causing the ruffling of papers somewhere to the side. He pads in as quietly as he can manage and looks for the man he has to uproot. He finds him in a corner in the light of one of the large stained glass windows, depicting a scene from  _ Midsummer Night’s Dream _ . He looks even more beautiful with colors pouring over him as he leans over a log of expenses.

 

“That’s my job, you know.”  _ Yes, great start, Stiles.  _ He mentally smacks himself but tries to keep up his confident exterior, something tells him that he can’t show weakness if he wants this to work in his favor.

 

“So Laura tells me.” Derek sighs, not looking up from his book as he flips to the next page. He does have to push up his spectacles along the bridge of his nose which draws Stiles’ attention away from his lovely hands to his even more praiseworthy eyes.

 

“If you would be so kind as to relinqui-”

 

“From my cold dead hands,” Derek says, cutting Stiles off and causing him to huff, crossing his arms indignantly. 

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because I said so.” Derek looks up from his book, but not so much  _ look  _ as it was  _ roll  _ his eyes up to meet Stiles’. His eyebrows lowered as he looks over his spectacles, Stiles has to hold back a smile at how the look totals into something that looks less like the glare Master Derek is likely going for and more like confusion. Maybe he is confused to, not used to being questioned by the house stewards before who likely, and no doubt smartly, backed down when Derek says ‘no’.

 

“Well, Lady Laura said it was my job now and she’s head of house,” Stiles tells him, he wasn’t going to give up so easily. Derek’s perfect complexion was going to see the light of day beyond this room or God so help him.

 

“Is that suppose to mean something to me?” Derek sits back in his chair, crossing his legs and clasping his hands over his knee.

 

“Well, she’s your, your superior,” He stutters and little caught at the authority card not winning this little game of back and forth, “You listen to her.” Stiles has to take a small step back when Derek’s head tips back and a loud, booming laugh erupts from his pink lipped mouth.

 

“I listen to Laura?” He asks in mocking inquisition when he’s finally calmed enough to speak, “I pegged you as more intuitive, but I guess I thought wrong.” Derek’s grin drops into a small smirk before returning to the book that he has now pulled into his lap.

 

“She wants what’s best for you.” It’s the last thing he can think to say, the last thing he probably should say especially based on the stormy look creeping over Derek’s pristine features. But what else is there to say? Stiles knows what it’s like to lose someone while they still walk the halls with you, like their physical body is a ghost that haunts you, reminding you of who they once were before tragedy struck. Stiles remembered how horrible it was to lose not only his mother but any resemblance he had to a father in the months after. He remembers blaming himself for not being enough, not doing enough. Remembers feeling so pitifully alone.

 

He wasn’t willing to watch what little of family the Hales had left waste away before their eyes. He’d be damned if he walked away from this without giving it his all. 

 

“She worries, and she just wants to see you happy.”

 

“Well, that’s a lovely sentiment, isn’t it?” Derek says in a droll tone, “You may leave, Mr. Stilinski.” 

 

“But -”

 

“I’m sure there are other tasks for your job that you must attend to, do them while you can.” Derek doesn’t need to look up from his book to convey the glare he’s added to the words. His meaning is loud and clear;  _ leave the library or leave the manor.  _

 

“A pleasure to speak with you, Master Hale.” Stiles replies sardonically, bowing with a mocking flourish of his hand. He stormed out of there, unable to comprehend what might have possessed him to basically lash out on his superior. If Isaac playfully nudging Lady Cora was mutiny, this was an outright coup. 

 

He isn’t exactly sure where he’s storming off  _ to  _ but that isn’t always required for a dramatic exit. Luckily enough for him Laura seems to just appear and gives him a knowing look after assessing his rather poor attempt to smooth his features into something less frustratingly flustered.

 

“You tried talking to Derek, didn’t you?” She asks simply, sighing when he nods the affirmative.

 

“It didn’t go as well as I had hoped.” He admits, worrying at his lower lip.

 

“Well, I’m glad you had hope, although it was misplaced. It might take time.” Laura dips her head down, making eye contact pointedly so that Stiles doesn’t miss her reassuring smile. He smiles back with his confidence somewhat restored.

 

“Oh, I haven’t given up yet just reassessing the situation. I won’t let you down, Lady Laura.” Her smile brightens, and there she is radiant and bright and he feels like this is the Laura Hale that should have always existed. 

 

“That’s why I have faith in you, Stiles.” She says, patting his cheek lightly and brushing his shoulder and his heart swells a little with the casual affection. It’s sisterly and warm and he thrives on it, had always loved being tactile and with people. It seemed to be a staple of this house if his past few days had been any indicator. Isaac liked to get his attention with a light grip on his arm, Melissa gave hugs to anyone who helped her in the kitchen and Scott gave his shoulders a nice rub the other day. It had been a little odd at first, but Stiles wasn’t one to judge and really how could he when he enjoyed receiving it and giving as much as he got?

 

“Now, scamper along, I believe Isaac is looking for you.” He bobs his head and leaves her with soft ‘yes ma’am’. Behind him he can hear the library doors creak open and a rather terrifying “Derek Andrew Hale” as he makes his way to the front room. 

 

“Stiles?” Isaac comes barreling around the corner, rushing up to him and barely managing to stop before actually crashing into Stiles.

 

“Slow down there, you’re going to hurt yourself.” Stiles places his hands on Isaac’s shoulders smiling and ready to laugh at the man’s impatience. But the laugh dies in his throat when he sees the earnestness in Isaac’s eyes. “What’s wrong?”

 

“It’s Beo. She’s having her pups.” Isaac says, grabbing his wrist and tugs him along, out the front door and towards west where Erica had said the stables were. He hadn’t had the chance to explore beyond the house, always being tugged away from the outdoors when someone would need something or some other new room caught his fancy.

 

“Beo?”

 

“Beowulf, she’s our dog. We found her in the woods injured a year or two ago and Deaton fixed her. We hadn’t been able to get rid of her after that.” Isaac explains, Stiles caught a glimpse of a rueful smile as they continued out into the woods along a path that Isaac seemed to know even if Stiles couldn’t see it.

 

“And why are you taking me to her? Shouldn’t you be getting Scott?” Stiles spots a clearing ahead and assumes that where he’s being lead.

 

“Scott went into town to work with Deaton today. I just need you to stay here with her while I run to go get him.” They enter the clearing and Stiles stops so suddenly his arm is nearly yanked out of its socket when Isaac continues on without him. “Stiles?”

 

“That is  _ not  _ a dog, Isaac.” Stiles’ eyes remain on the  _ wolf  _ they just stumbled across. It was a beautiful creature, dark cocoa colored and sprawled like she was very much aware that this was her territory. Her stomach bulged and she was panting heavily, whining in obvious discomfort.

 

“True, but you would have never come if I told you she was a wolf.” Isaac shrugs with a wry smile. “Just, please, sit with her? I can’t just leave her alone now.” Stiles had heard from a few of the other staff the stories of Isaac’s doe eyes and how easy it was to fall into his trap. Stiles had thought of himself as a rather formidable person, he didn’t fall easily but he was nothing in the face of such a pleading figure.

 

“Fine, bu-”

 

“Thank you, Stiles!” And with that Isaac is gone, simply a flash of blond curls amongst the trees. Well, that left just him and Beo.

 

“Hello, Beo.” Stiles said timidly causing the wolf’s ears to perk and her head to swing up to look at him curiously. Stiles isn’t sure what to do, standing ten or so yards away is about as close as he’s willing to get so there isn’t much he  _ can  _ do. Well, it was time to pull out what he did best - talk.

 

“I have got to say, this is not what I was expecting when I came to be a house steward.” Stiles tells her. Beo keeps her focus on him, and maybe it’s his imagination but it sounds like her whimpers are quietening in the wake of his voice. “I didn’t even know what  _ to  _ expect, there’s so many things said about this house that I didn’t know what to believe,” Beo’s head lowers so her chin rests on her forearms as she continues to watch him. “I didn’t want to believe any of the rumors, I didn’t understand why there had to be rumors. The Hales have suffered enough, haven’t done anything deserving such treatment but people have to satiate their curiosity.” 

 

He looks at the creature before him, her whines having slowed if not stopped altogether and he isn’t sure if that’s a good thing. Maybe it’s getting worse and isn’t worth her energy to keep the sound going, but Stiles will let himself believe it’s his voice soothing her so he keeps going.

 

“I don’t want to be like those people, I want to help.” Stiles tells her softly, “I didn’t lose eleven people but one is enough. No one deserves that kind of pain.” Very slowly, feeling an odd mix of bravery and comfort, Stiles lowers himself to sitting with his legs crossed. The wolf watches from where she remains thirty yards away, she doesn’t lift her head, doesn’t make a sound, just watches him with a sort of acceptance that he doesn’t quite understand but is willing to trust. It’s another silent ten minutes before Stiles hears Scott making his way to the clearing.

 

“Beo? Oh, Stiles, Isaac said he left you here.” Scott stumbles slightly as he tries to assess Beo while still walking through the foliage before entering the clearing.

 

“Left me to the wolves, yes.” Stiles says ruefully. 

 

“Thank you for staying with her. Do you mind staying a little longer? Isaac went back to the house hoping to tell everyone else. We’ve been waiting for quite some time for this.” 

 

“You want me to help?”

 

“It would be best if you could, birthing is easier with assistance.” Stiles blanches a little at the thought. Blood and gore were not his prerogative, he pales at even small injuries when blood was involved. But Scott was looking at him with a beseeching gaze and clasped hands like a child begging with a parent. It was ridiculous but it wheedled its way to Stiles heart. With a solid swallow and his shoulders shaken out he nodded.

 

“Alright, what I can do?”

 

After that, the birth was simple. Scott obviously knew what he was doing, practised in the way he approached the wolf in a placating manner. It took far more coaxing to get Stiles to approach and allow the creature to scent his hand before proceeding. Stiles prefers to avoid remembering the exact details of the process, but when the first pup was handed to his to bring to Beo he couldn’t help his awe despite the momentary cringe  he couldn’t suppress. 

 

The pup was so delicate in his palms, squirming slightly and making piteous little noises that tore at Stiles’ heart. He gently laid the new wolf down in front of its mother’s muzzle where she proceeded to lick the pup clean. He repeated the process two more times, the amazement never leaving him as he held each pup in turn. He sees Scott’s soft, pleased smile in the corner of his eye as Stiles remains transfixed by the scene before him.

 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” 

 

“Yes, I never knew it could be like that.” 

 

“Just wait, it’s even better when it’s a human child.” Scotts says appreciatively. Stiles blinks before turning to look at the man next to him. He couldn’t imagine the euphoria it must bring him to help children enter the world, the joy of life in his hands and getting to hand that joy over to new parents. 

 

“You must really love your work.”

 

“More than anything,” Scott agrees with a nod of his head. “Come on, let’s give her some time alone with them. She’ll probably bring them around the house soon enough.” Stiles startles a bit at that, but tamps it down.

 

“It shouldn’t surprise me that you’ve domesticated a wolf, should it?” They move out of the clearing slowly before picking up their pace to reach the house. The sun was high in the sky and it would be cooler in the house.

 

“Oh, she is far from domesticated,” Scott says with a small laugh.

 

“Than what has kept her from eating you for so little as coming close let alone me holding her pups?” Stiles’ voice rises in pitch as the gravity of his previous actions reach him. 

 

“You could say we have an agreement with her,” Scott shrugs. Stiles feels like he’s missing something, but brushes it off as they enter the cool air of the house and begins to feel the itch of blood drying on his hands. He and Scott separate and go off to their bathrooms to wash up. That’s when Stiles runs into Derek.

 

It’s not a small brush of shoulders or just a simple bump.  In a moment of panic thinking he was going to fall, he grabbed for the nearest thing he could reach. Derek’s previously pristine white button down is marred with smears of blood when Stiles’ hands, and when he realises he can’t seem to take his hands off Derek’s chest. 

 

“Oh!” He squeaks, realizing what he’s done. He goes to push away but finds he can’t move very far due to an iron hold around his waist. The iron hold happens to be Derek’s arm where he’s caught Stiles, stopping him from actually toppling over. 

 

“Bloody Hell,” He mutters.

 

“I would have to agree.” Derek’s voice rumbles through his chest and into Stiles’ can feel his cheeks flush.

 

“I am so sorry,” Stiles says, pushing his hands against Derek’s chest needing for the man to let him go before this becomes anymore embarrassing. He is after all pressed up against a  _ very  _ attractive man.

 

“Laundry was being done today anyway,” Derek says. His arm retracts finally, allowing Stiles to scramble to adjust his clothes only spreading more blood making him grimace.

 

“Well, thank you for, uh, catching me,” Stiles stutters, cheeks still warm under Derek’s unrelenting gaze. He feels exposed. 

 

“It would be in your best interests to be more aware of your surroundings, Mr. Stilinski.” With that Derek is continuing to walk down the hallway as if Stiles hadn’t just smeared wolf birthing blood all over his clothes. He should be happy, glad he isn’t being reprimanded, peaceful in keeping his job; but what he’s coming to realize about his interaction with Derek was that they, by no means, fell under the category of normal or usual. Especially not with how Derek seemed to get under his skin.

 

“I’m not the only one at fault!” He calls after the man’s retreating back. Derek waved him off without word and Stiles huffed petulantly, continuing on his way to his room where he could change and wash up. Maybe, if he scrubbed hard enough, he’s be able to wash the embarrassment from under his skin as well.

 

#####  A NEW PLAN

“Hello, Melissa,” Stiles greets as he enters the kitchen. The woman lifts her head from where she’s at the sink washing dishes.

 

Stiles survived nearly two weeks and now it was really feeling like a place he could call home. Stiles didn’t think it was supposed to be this easy, almost seamless in the transition of him training under Erica to leading the house on his own. It felt natural the way they came to him for his opinion and advice or their needs whether they be in relations to the house or themselves. It felt good to be trusted like this. It didn’t hurt that Stiles was damn good at his job.

 

Well, at least, most of it.

 

He had yet to have Master Derek hand over the budget logs or the Hale expenses book, but Stiles was stubborn and unwilling to just give in. He was determined to see this through, no matter the glares of doom he received in return for his troubles. He had been expressing his troubles to just about everyone on staff, asking for any sort of advice he could get but so far there had been no luck. The staff had been with the Hales so long, they no longer saw Derek’s reclusive tendencies as an issue like Lady Laura does. Even Cora, who was nearby for Stiles’ questioning of Isaac, scoffed telling him it was a waste of time.

 

“Good afternoon, Stiles. Did you need something?” She asks, wiping her hands on her apron as she turns to face him.

 

“I was hoping you would answer a question for me,” He says, continuing only once she gestures for him to continue, “What is Master Derek’s favorite thing to eat? A preferred snack or comfort drink, perhaps?” 

 

“You really are determined, aren’t you?” Melissa smiles, already moving towards a cabinet and reaching in. She’s pulls down a canister and removes to the lid to reveal cocoa powder. Stiles doesn’t wait for her to ask before grabbing for the kettle and getting started on warming some milk.

 

“I have to say I’m surprised,” Stiles says, placing the filled kettle on the stovetop on high heat, “With how much tea he drinks, I was expecting a specialty blend or something of the like.”

 

“Oh, don’t discredit the tea, he does love his tea. But nothing quite hits the spot like hot cocoa.” As they stand around waiting for the milk to heat, he and Melissa converse about the manor and anything she might need in the weeks to come to add to the list of things he needs to buy when he goes into town. Once the kettle whistles, Stiles pulls it off the heat and Melissa grabs a mug from a cupboard.

 

“Thank you, Mel,” He says when he goes to leave, mug carefully held in two hands while he walks.

 

“Good luck, Stiles.”

 

Stiles takes measured paces on his way to the library and is careful of the upturn of the rug in the main hall, Lord only knows how many times he’s caught his foot on it. In a truly remarkable feat of balance, Stiles manages to twist away from the path Kira is on as she hustles past him in a flurry.

 

“Sorry, Stiles,” She calls over her shoulder, hefting her mop and bucket into a more sure grip as she speeds away.

 

“It’s plenty alright,” He says, continuing on his way when the cocoa settles in the mug. He’s has just arrived at the large library doors, wondering how in the hell he was supposed to open them when Scott appears. The butler spots the mug in his grasp and smiles.

 

“Trying another tactic, I see,” Scott says as he opens the door for him for which Stiles smiles appreciatively. 

 

“I told you I wasn’t giving up, just have to be a little more creative,” Stiles says as he enters the library, hearing Scott push the doors close once again.

 

“I did not request you, Mr. Stilinski.” Derek doesn’t even look up from the novel he has perched in his lap but Stiles doesn’t pay it any mind, knowing the man listens despite his outward apathy.

 

“This wouldn’t be a surprise if you did, Master Derek,” Stiles replies with a smile as he places the mug on the side table to Derek’s right.

 

“I don’t like surprises.”

 

“I think you will like this one.”

 

“Bribery is a new low,” Derek says, finally looking up but doesn’t mark his page so Stiles knows the attention being paid is tenuous. The man eyes the mug as if debating if it’s poisoned.

 

“It’s not a bribe, simply an act of kindness.” Stiles rocks a little on his heels, hands clasped behind his back. Derek looks him up and down with a searching gaze and Stiles does his best to keep his eyes a little wide and just a touch imploring.

 

“With motives, I can guarantee,” Derek scoffs, looking like he’s going to return to his book.

 

“It wouldn’t have an agenda if you gave me no reason to beseech you,” Stiles huffs, crossing his arms. Obviously being appealing isn’t winning him any favors with the man, so a new approach will have to be tried.

 

“I’ve already told you -”

 

“What if you didn’t have to give up your precious logs?” Stiles interrupts causing Derek to look up. But rather than the anger or annoyance that Stiles had come to expect from these interactions, but rather his eyes were touched with curiosity. His head cocked slightly as if processing the new idea.

 

“And how would you propose that working?”

 

“It is increasingly evident that you are too damn stubborn to ever just hand the revenue logs over, you probably enjoy being an ass,” Derek looks ready to protest but Stiles plows on, “So, what if we came to some kind of compromise? You can keep your logs and read your novels,  _ but  _ you have to go on excursions as well.” Derek continues to use that searching gaze, removing his glasses making Stiles feel like suddenly the look was being used to its full effect without the barrier. 

 

“What kind of excursions?” Stiles wanted to jump for joy, swing his arms around and dance because  _ finally  _ they were getting somewhere. Rather than scare the man back into his refusal, Stiles settled for a grin; one that in all honesty probably wasn’t much better, with how likely it was that he looked manic.

 

“I know Isaac planted a new set of gerber daisies in the garden this last week and I know he loves receiving approval, Beo has been around with her pups recently, maybe a horseback ride would be good,” Stiles offered, ticking off just the beginning of the list of things Derek could do beyond the library.

 

“I haven’t gone to the stables in quite a long while,” Derek nods along, putting a strip of embroidered cloth between the pages of his novel and moving to stand.

 

“Oh, uh, would you like to go now? I could follow you, I need to visit Boyd anyway,” Stiles wants to smack himself for how small his voice sounds now, shy and timid like a school-girl with a runaway heartbeat. 

 

“Company would be nice,” Derek says with a nod. With that they leave the library and slowly their legs begins to sync up and eventually they’re walking in step with one another. As they walk, Stiles chatters about the various going-ons of the house: Melissa’s attempt at a new dish that ended in a small fire that had thankfully been quickly smothered, that the staff were trying to pick names for Beo’s pups, the cement glue he had ordered for Boyd to fix the pipe leak upstairs. 

 

And for once, in all their interactions, Derek’s silence didn’t feel oppressive. It didn’t feel like Stiles was a head case being examined or judged for his rapid fire conversation, but simply being listened to. It felt like Stiles was actually talking to Derek and not a brick wall with his features. It was pleasant and when they finally reached the garage, Stiles felt almost disappointed. 

 

“Alright, well, no just sneaking off back to your den. I will be asking Isaac if he’s seen you riding,” Stiles points a vaguely accusing finger at Derek as he backs away towards the door into the garage.

 

“I don’t doubt you would have me spied on by my own staff,” Derek agrees easily, the corner of his mouth ticking upwards.

 

“I must finally be getting somewhere,” Stiles said, not holding back the smile that broke across his face. 

 

“Goodbye, Mr. Stilinski.,” Derek says as he waves and begins to walk away.

 

“You may call me Stiles, Master Derek.” Derek stops, turning to look at Stiles and nods a little to himself almost before replying.

 

“And you may call me Derek.” Stiles’ smile broadens and he turns around, walking away before he can make a right fool of himself. He enters the garage and finds Boyd under one of the cars lifted on stands, overalls smudged with grease and grime.

 

“Hello, Boyd,” Stiles calls, scuffing his feet a bit first to announce his presence as not to startle the man. Boyd pushes himself out from under the car, wiping his hands on the overalls as he stands up.

 

“Stiles,” He nods, walking over to his work bench where he has several tools laid out in a line.

 

“I was wondering if you needing anything for when I go into to-”

 

“I just saw Derek walking to the stables!” Erica comes crashing in with her hair in disarray and she’s gripping the door frame like it’s the only thing keeping her upright. Both men turn to her, Stiles wide eyed and concerned and Boyd mildly curious.

 

“Yes, I suggested he do so,” Stiles confesses, wanting to cower when Erica locks her gaze on him and approaches like a predator on prey.

 

“How in the bloody hell did you get Derek out of the house?” Her words are nearly a snarl and Stiles can’t tell if she’s angry or savagely curious. Maybe she doesn’t even know. Boyd comes from behind Stiles and places a placating hand on her shoulder causing her to settle back and look less like she’s ready to pounce Stiles.

 

“Well,” Stiles swallows convulsively, “I realized that just stripping him of his logbooks wasn’t going to work so I told him he could keep them so long as he took breaks to go outside and do other things,” Stiles shrugs at the end, not entirely sure what he was trying to downplay. It didn’t feel like a big deal to him, a simple compromise to accomplish a goal. But maybe he was missing something big here, something only the long term staff seemed to know. “Why is that a problem?” Stiles’ anxiety ratchets up as his brain tries to convince him he’s done something horribly wrong.

 

“No one has just gotten him to leave the library, not without him wanting to do it himself,” Erica says, looking at him less like a meal and more like he’s something strange and new. “He’s been holed up in that house since forever it feels like and here you are, taking a stroll with him outside.”

 

“Oh my Lord, I broke him, didn’t I?” Stiles heart rate picks up, his breathing a bit uneven while Erica and Boyd look at him oddly.

 

“Stiles, just breathe, alright?” Boyd is the first to break the trance and places a gentle palm on his shoulder. It was grounding and strong and settled something deep in Stiles allowing him to breathe at a steadier pace. “You did nothing wrong.”

 

“Are you joking? This is amazing, inconceivable,” Erica whooped excitably, jumping a little. 

 

“What’s so amazing about it?” Now that the panic of the moment was eased most of the way, Stiles was curious. They couldn’t be serious, right? Derek had to leave the house at  _ some point. _

 

“Derek hasn’t left the house in years, Stiles,” Boyd explains in that slow sort of patience that doctors use with easily spooked patients. Stiles eyes widen to where they might fall out from lack of support.

 

“What do you mean ‘years’? Do you mean that as hyperbole? You’re over exaggerating because it’s funny. Well, it’s supposed to be funny, I’m not entirely sure this was successful. If anything that’s really scary and why doesn’t he leave? Is he agoraphobic? No, that doesn’t make sense, he would cower at the very suggestion of going outside but he seemed perfectly fine when I asked and -”

 

“Stiles, breathe.” Now Erica is clutching at his arm, dipping her head to force eye contact that Stiles finds comforting despite the look of doom he was receiving earlier.

 

“I’m breathing, can’t talk if I don’t breathe,” He says, his head bobbing a little too quick to look calm or natural.

 

“We were just surprised -” Erica starts. 

 

“Really surprised,” Boyd mutters, looking about as surprised as he ever seemed to be. Translation being he raises his eyebrows a little.

 

“But that does not mean it was bad, alright? Derek just doesn’t leave the house very often,” Stiles is half tempted to interrupt again but this time it’s Boyd’s hand on his shoulder that quiets him, “And the fact that you seemed to do it so simply caught us off guard.”

 

“Okay, well, I guess I’m magic or something,” Stiles says, trying to sound casually playful even as the information rattles around in his head a little longer. 

 

“Wouldn’t be surprised, honestly,” Boyd scoffs before turning away and heads back to the car he had been working on. Erica watches shamelessly as he bends over to put his tools down before crawling underneath.

 

“Moving on, did you need anything from town, Boyd? I’m going next weekend and was hoping to start the list now.” He needed to focus on something other than this odd magical ability he seemed to have with convincing possibly-agoraphobic, surly men to leave their homes for a stroll. He needed chores to do and he needed them now.

 

“I’m low on motor oil and some new cleaning rags would be appreciated,” Boyd said from under the car while Stiles nodded along, committing the new items to memory on the list he had going:  _ A new feather duster for Kira preferably ostrich; hen feather makes her sneeze. A new apron for Erica;the old one ripped as she pet one of the wolf cubs. Scott had been running low on the sweets he favored from the candy shoppe in town and defensively claimed “They are completely necessary for work, Stiles! They keep me motivated.” and more oil and cleaning rags for Boyd.  _

 

“Sounds good. Now, which one of these may I take into town? I’m due to visit my father.”

 

“Third hook from the left, third car from the left,” Boyd tells him, putting to the workbench where the four sets of keys hang at eye level.

 

“Already tired of us, Mr.Stilinski?” If Erica had used the same title a week ago, it would have felt cold, detached and maybe a little bit mocking. But Stiles just smiles at her, shaking his head, the name feels almost like a timid form of affection and he will take what he can get.

 

“You can only wish, Ms. Reyes,” Stiles snags the aforementioned keys and waves as he gets in and starts the car.

***

 

“Was wondering if you ever going to visit your old man,” The Commissioner smiles as he stands from his desk to greet Stiles. 

 

“What kind of son would I be if I didn’t make sure my father was staying safe and eating well?” Stiles laughs as his father huffs and pull him into a hug.

 

“So, how is the job going? Well, I’m hoping seeing as how you haven’t quit yet.”

 

“They are a strange bunch, I will admit, but not bad people,” Stiles tells him, sitting across from him at the desk where a case file is spread open.

 

“And they’re treating you right?” The Commissioner intone seriously, giving Stiles the age-old ‘tell-me-the-truth-mister’ look that somehow never managed to lose its effect over the years of Stiles growing up. Even as an adult he can feel the power of his father’s parental look.

 

“Of course. They’re kind and maybe a little odd, but it- it feels like home, Dad. It feels like family.” His father nods across from him, the serious look easing in the wake of Stiles’ honesty. They both sit there, in silence, as the words hang. It wasn’t like Stiles had been starved for family before now, he and his father had always been close. But there was something special about being accepted into a family of choice. 

 

“Are you working on another case?” Stiles couldn’t bear the silence, he was never fond of the pressing of unmoving air in his ears or the weird squirming sensation under his skin. 

 

“Yes,” The Commissioner nods, shuffling his papers and obviously just as happy with the change of topics as Stiles is, “there’s been some really violent robberies, recently. Ms. Chavez was beaten half to death last week when someone broke in to steal her jewelry last week, she’s still on bed rest with broken ribs and a nasty abrasion to her head.” Stiles nods along as his father explains the previous attacks that had been happening around town while Stiles was gone.

 

“So, what are your leads?” Stiles asks, leaning forward to lean his elbows on his knees causing his father to eye him suspiciously.

 

“You know, if you became a deputy, this would be a conversation we would be allowed to have.”

 

“It’s too late, Pops, I’ve found my calling. Now, what do you have on this perp?” His father sighs but Stiles can only smile. He had always had a knack for getting involved where he was told he wasn’t allowed. It hadn’t took his dad very long to realize it was probably best just to keep his son informed rather than risk him trying to figure it out for himself. 

They sit for a few hours while his dad hands him papers from his file and explains what they know. They don’t know a lot, but it should be enough to start a an hunt. The surrounding counties haven’t had any incidents so they believe the thief is a local. It looks like he isn’t the type to kill, considering he hasn’t killed any of his robbery victims, but they consider him very dangerous. For now, the victims are giving similar attributes - tall, light hair, heavy boots and dark eyes. 

 

“Commissioner?” A deputy knocks on the door frame before entering with his boss’ approval. “We have a dispute at the shoe shop on 10th Avenue. They’re asking you to negotiate.” 

 

“Yes, of course. I’ll be there in ten minutes tops. Contain the crowd, if you can’t disperse them and tell them I will be asking them to come to the station,” his father says in his ‘work voice’ before turning back to Stiles. “I’m sure you have to get back. It was nice talking with you, son.”

 

“You too, Dad,” Stiles says as he hugs his father close, squeezing for good measure before leaving the precinct and heading for his car.

 

He hums as he drives, enjoying the time he got to spend with his dad. Maybe one day, he would bring his father up to the Hale manor. Show him the grounds and introduce him to Melissa. He would like it out there, and Stiles had no doubt that he would take like a duck to water with the family atmosphere. 

 

#####  WALKS IN THE GARDEN

“Lady Laura?” Stiles calls from one side of a bedroom door.

 

“Come in, Stiles.” He entered the room, smiling as he found Laura with dozens of papers spread around where she sat on the floor, her plain pale yellow dress fanned out carelessly. She was holding a sketchpad and held a poised pencil with her eyebrows furrowed in a way that reminded him all too much of her brother.

 

“How’s the finch coming along?” Stiles sat across from her, watching her pencil scratch across the page in the vague likeness of the various other sketches she was attempting to emulate. 

 

“Horrible,” she huffed unhappily. There were many occasions when Stiles was sent to town simply to buy Laura more paper and new pencils because her new obsession with art ate through the house’s supply scarily fast. Not to say she was wasteful. When a portrait came out wrong she’d simply use it as a scratch page to practice other things until there wasn’t a blank space left.

 

“Now, I am very flattered that you considered me model material, but I do have other duties to attend to Ms. Hale,” Stiles said making the woman laugh. 

 

“You can only wish, Mr. Stilinski,” She continued to giggle, “I know you to be incapable of keeping still.”

 

“I cannot argue with that. So, what is it you wished to tell me?” Laura set down her pencil, instead picking up a small folder and handing it to him.

 

“It has been many years since the Hale manor hosted a party, and I believe with the changes we’ve undergone recently, it would be the perfect time to start the tradition again,” Laura said before nodding towards the file, “There was some of the plans my mother had kept for a party that never got to happen.” Stiles could not help the way he cringed slightly, knowing why this party never happened, but Laura pushes forward. “I was hoping you could finish what needs to be done and show this house a good time.” 

 

“I would love to, but I have absolutely no experience in the matter,” Stiles said with a troubled look. 

 

“You had no experience running a household either, but you have managed to bring this house to it’s peak in a matter of weeks and continued your good work for months now,” Laura smiled softly, encouragingly. “I have a lot of faith in you, Stiles. I know you can do it.”

 

“Thank you,” He said, doing his best to smile back, “I won’t let you down.”

 

“You never do. Now, leave me to my paper and pencils. Off you go.” Laura waves at him in a shooing motion with her hands and he laughs as he scampers out of the room. 

 

He spends the next several hours pouring over the folder he had been given, reading through the plans that the late Lady Talia Hale had laid out so many years ago. There were printed papers with information on various venders that would supply wine and specialty lamps for the courtyard where people could congregate despite the sun setting. There were also hand written notes in what he assumed was Talia’s looping cursive. He strokes over the penmanship lightly, tracing the letters as they curl over the lines caught up in the sentimentality of it all. Little mentions of a friend in a certain business, the relations of the guests she had on a list, cautions towards foods that some might be allergic to and how to announce which dishes had what.

 

He dives into the plans and immerses himself, already so excited to see the Hale manor lit up with the lights and laughter of a party. This will most definitely be fun.

 

***

 

“Stiles? Derek was looking for you this morning, but I believe you were busy with Boyd?” Scott enters his room after receiving confirmation to come in.

 

“Yes, do you know what he needs?” Stiles asks, placing his novel to the side and standing up from his bed. He and Boyd had been discussing some plans for the party for hours and he was nearly jumping with excitement with the surprise he had planned. He came to his room to read and hopefully settle down enough to not blurt the secret out to anyone who he saw long enough to listen.

 

“He wouldn’t say, just asked for you to find him in the library,” Scott smiled. It had been many weeks of growing closer the the staff that felt more like family, and it had been many weeks since he had felt like he was missing some kind of meaning to their words. But something about Scott’s smile made him feel like there was a joke that he wasn’t in on.

 

“I guess I better go attend to the gentle prince’s needs,” Stiles said with mock-finesse making the butler laugh. He leaves Scott to his duties and leaves in search of Derek. Well, “in search” feels like a stretch since the man is almost always in the same place.

 

The library doors creak open and he pinched himself for forgetting to ask Boyd to grease the hinges. Stiles finds Derek sitting in his usual plush airchair nearest to the hearth.

 

“You aren’t very good at looking, are you?” Stiles teases when Derek manages to pull his nose out of the book in his hands, looking surprised. “Scott said you wanted me.” Derek huffs and mutters something about nosiness that Stiles can’t quite make out.

 

“Yes, well, I wanted to ask if you would go for a walk with me.” Derek says, standing from his chair, looking maybe a little uncomfortable. Stiles gapes for a moment, unsure of when they went from snarky banter to Derek requesting his company.

 

“I -”

 

“Of course, if you were busy then I could always go al -”

 

“No!” Stiles says much too loud before reining himself back in, “I- No, I would love to go with you. Would you like to leave now?” Derek nods before gesturing to the door. Stiles leads the way outside, once they’re on a path in the garden, Derek comes up beside him with his hands clasped behind his back.

 

“So, I’ve been told this is a rare occurrence for you,” Stiles says barely managing not to hit himself in the face.  _ Yes, perfect conversation starting, let’s discuss how much he dislikes being outside while you are walking _ outside. 

 

“It has been a while, yes,” Derek says, chin up and eyes straight ahead and voice stiff. It’s the exact opposite of what Stiles wants and now his mind is floundering for a way to fix it and landing on nothing capable of salvaging it.

 

“Is there anything other than reading that you enjoy?” He says, trying again for conversation with the first possibility his mind can conjure. Silence never settled well with Stiles and he considered it his calling in life to fill the quiet with noise of some sort. But there was something different in the silence that followed his question in which Derek contemplated his answer. Maybe he should fill it with follow up questions, or whistle, he did have a tune he had stuck in his head that Erica had been playing on the record player while she cleaned. 

 

“I like going for runs, but I haven’t gone for one recently,” Derek says. He brushed his fingers over the gerber daisies Isaac had planted, stroking his thumb softly over the delicate petals as he spoke. 

 

“I enjoy running!” Stiles’ head pops up excitedly before he blushes and attempts to rein himself back in. “I meant that I took up the hobby while in school. It helped me clear my mind and focus.”

 

Derek regards him with a gaze from the corner of his eye, not turning his head but Stiles can feel the look as if it were a physical force probing at him in curiosity. It was a strange feeling, but not entirely unpleasant.

 

They continue like that for quite a while, walking and talking. Well, it’s more like a question game - Stiles asks questions, Derek gives a barely satisfying answer by using as few words as possible it seems. At times, Stiles feels like he’s pushing his luck, being to nosy or like he may be irritating the man, but Derek must think otherwise. Whenever Stiles’ questions peter off or his attempt at telling a story die out, Derek gives him an expectant look with a raised eyebrow like he’s waiting for Stiles to continue. 

 

And there’s something special about seeing Derek outdoors. As much as he knows the man is listening intently, he also sees how quietly enamored he is by everything around them. It shows in how his hands brush over the bark of the trees they pass and how he pauses to dip close to the flowers on bushes. Stiles nearly loses his thought when Derek tips his head back as the tree cover breaks and the sun pours over them. He watches in fascination as Derek’s eyelashes cast delicate shadows over his cheekbones and the sun glints on the tan skin that had grown pale over time indoors. By the time they have lapped the house and a decent percentage of the grounds, Stiles’ legs feel almost too limber and he can feel the heat of the back of his neck coloring red. He doesn’t want it to end.

 

“I do believe that is enough time outside, don’t you think Stiles?” Derek asks as they approach the front doors. Maybe it’s just Stiles’ imagination, but Derek sounds almost regretful to say so.

 

“I guess it should do for today,” Stiles agrees with a bob of his head, telling his cheeks to calm the rush of blush when Derek holds the door as they enter. 

 

“Oh, will this not cover the week? Will I be required to do this again tomorrow?” Derek asks playfully with a tilt of his lips. 

 

“But of course. You barely made the cut today,” Stiles says, enjoying his chance to play along.

 

“Well, I guess you have to take me out again tomorrow,” Derek says as he makes his way up the stairs, leaving Stiles in the entry hall, unwilling to leave for his duties just yet.

 

“Drag you from your wolf den and out into the world?” Stiles startles a little when Derek nearly doubles over with laughter at that, but he’s too in love with the sound for it to bother him in the slightest.

 

“Yes, Stiles, that sounds just about right,” Derek waves as he turns the corner at the top of the stairs and disappears from sight, leaving Stiles with what is likely a manic grin and a too rapid heartbeat. He resists the urge to do a little dance of victory, and good thing too when he sees Isaac walk in from the ballroom. 

 

“Had a nice stroll, did you?” Isaac asks pleasantly, but his smirk is knowing.

 

“Simply perfect,” Stiles replies, unwilling to let the impish man ruin his mood with his teasing.

 

“Well, while you were gone the rest of us were  _ doing our jobs _ ,” Stiles rolls his eyes with a smile as he walks towards Isaac and follows him back into the ballroom.

 

The Hale manor ballroom was a thing of beauty, exceeding even the decor of the rest of the house The ceiling was high and rounded, painted like the canopy of a magical forest, the moon full and bright above them. If Stiles had believed that the windows in the entry hall were impressive, he stood corrected upon walking into the ballroom for the first time over a month ago. There was more windows that walls and Erica had told him the curtains were taken down when they weren’t needed in winter to preserve the heat inside the manor. The floors were glossy and slick, pillars circled around them, engraved with ivy and delicate flowers that could only be the work of a talented craftsman with tools as fine as fingernails. 

 

This was the fairytale his mother had told him about. A great room, so majestic in its construction that you couldn’t help but wonder if men had the help of gods to make it. He could already hear the rustle of skirts as women twirled and the laughter of guests as they waltz past and could smell the roast Melissa had requested ingredients for. It was going to be a magical night.

 

“Are you sure you want to do the ball so soon? No one would mind if you waited a little while longer, Lady Laura didn’t expect you to be so eager,” Isaac informed him sincerely, but not unkindly. 

 

“I’m not worried. The Hales’ mother, Talia, left this folder and so much of the planning is already laid out, it would only take a few minor changes and resecuring the orders she was attempting to place,” Stiles explained as he flipped through the folder Isaac had handed him. “And I may have already sent invitations for two weeks from now,” Stiles tells him, aware enough of his impulsiveness to look sheepish. Isaac sighs, but he’s smiling.

 

“Well, what should we do to start?” Isaac asked and his words are the cue for Stiles to begin. . 

 

He first tasks Isaac with trimming back the  hedges outside to give a clear view of the backyard and courtyard just beyond the french doors. He then went to find Melissa and asked what kind of help she would need for a party of seventy guests and records what she needs. He finds Erica and double checks the contacts for the winery and has her find where the banquet tables are stored and ensure their condition is party ready. Scott is sent to find ways of marking the driveway up to the house so guests don’t get lost. Kira is asked to clean all the windows and make sure the dance floor is waxed. It takes him a little longer to explain what he needs from Boyd but the man doesn’t hesitate to agree to his plan, assuring him that he will look into it and see what he can do. Stiles trusts Boyd’s genius and lets the crown jewel of tonight settle into the man’s capable hands.

 

Even with the help of Talia Hale this was going to be a huge amount of work, but Stiles was sure he could get it done, and once the invitations had been sent out he could do little else but focus on bringing the plan together. 

 

Either way, it was a challenge that Stiles just  _ knew  _ the Hale manor could overcome.

 

#####  A NIGHT UNDER THE STARS

“Boyd, this is incredible!” Stiles exclaims happily upon entering the ballroom for the first time in days. Hanging from the ceiling are hundreds of gas lamps, varying in height and size as they grace the empty space of the lofty ceiling. Each lamp hangs from near invisible fishing line that gives the illusion of suspension by magic. It’s beautiful and casts the room in a soft glow and manages to not block the view of the mural above. It was perfect for the party tonight.

 

The man smiles, “It was a great idea, I was happy to make it real.”

 

“Can I hug you? I think I should hug you,” Stiles babbles, holding out his arms, shaking his shoulders a little as if he could entice the mechanic to embrace him. Boyd rolls his eyes, but his lips are curling upward. Stiles wraps his arms around him, giddy with how well all his plans were coming together and that Boyd was actually indulging him. 

 

“I think Erica is looking for you,” He says, cringing a little as he pulls away from their hug.

 

“Wha-”

 

“Stiles!” Now Stiles cringes at the sound of a very flustered Erica. Boyd pats his shoulder sympathetically before making a beeline for the door, pecking Erica’s cheek as he goes before leaving Stiles to fend for himself.

 

“Erica, my love, what can I do for you?” He smiles as he approaches her, albeit cautiously as she storms forward.

 

“Oh, hush, Stilinski. We need to re-wax those banquet tables and I don’t have any wax. Melissa was doing a trial run for the the quiches and to say it went to hell would be an understatement. We can’t find the summer drapes and the table cloths are moth eaten from being in storage for so long.”

 

“That’s definitely a significant number of issues,” Stiles agrees, nodding and probably growing pale with how much this will be holding him back from other tasks. Erica is stilling staring at him looking seconds away from some kind of breakdown that will involve breaking  _ him _ . “But! But I’m sure they are all easy fixes,” Stiles says, hands up in placation. 

 

“And how do you propose that?” She asks, crossing her arms and cocking out her hip.

 

“Well, I know a few places to get wax for a nice price. It’s an old friend of mine and he’s made a new kind that smells better and lasts longer,” Stiles places a hand on her upper arm and is pleased to note her shoulders dropping some of their tension. “As long as the kitchen is still physically standing, I’m sure it’s fixable. It’s still standing, isn’t it?” Stiles’ eyes snaps over to Erica’s in exaggerated shock making her giggle as she nods, “Okay. Then all we need is to do is buy new table cloths, which I’m sure I can find in town tomorrow.”

 

Erica looks at him and Stiles can see how on edge she is and does his best to smile it away. It seemed like the whole house was suddenly in chaos, as if despite how in tune they were every other time, it was this small party that would be the undoing of all their hard work together. He had almost been intimidated by how efficient they were when he had first come, how well they all worked with one another in a fluid system of helping each other A small party was not going to be end of that.

 

“I suggest you help Melissa clean whatever needs to be cleaned and make me a list of what you need to replace. I’ll be going into town to get the wax and table cloths. Send Isaac to find me in town when the list is done. Don’t worry, Erica, we can do this.”

 

She nods along, taking deep breathes as she does, closing her eyes as if to really absorb his encouragement. Stiles smiles at the rush of affection he feels as he watches her relax and then straighten up in a new resolve, “Well, we best get a move on, Stiles.”

 

He gapes after her as she struts out of the ballroom, golden curls flowing out behind her. A little something clicks into place as she goes, like something is finally being recognized and it’s happy to be complete. Stiles barely has the chance to shake out his shoulders and start thinking about what he has to do when Derek comes into the room. He watches in tense excitement as Derek notices the lighting. 

 

“Stiles,” Derek whispers as the lamp light makes his skin glow. Over the last few weeks he and Derek had been going on daily walks that often lasted several hours, talking about any and everything. And over that time Derek’s skin had lost its grayish parlor and had taken on a sun kissed look that only accentuated everything Stiles had already found beautiful about the man. 

 

“Do you like it?” He placed his hands behind his back, rocking back on his heels. Derek continued to stare in rapt awe and it was making Stiles nervous. Maybe he didn’t like it,he didn’t like that he had altered the room, maybe he hated it, or thought it was silly, “I didn’t think to ask, I wanted to surprise you and I wasn’t even sure it would work so I asked Boyd and he said he would try and then it was feasible so I told him to go ahead but I should have asked and -”

 

“Stiles, it’s incredible,” Derek says earnestly, blinking a little as he looks away from the hanging lamps. 

 

“Oh, well, thank you.” Stiles can feel his cheeks heat up in an all too familiar gesture when Derek is involved. “Um, I have to go into town to get some last minute things, but I will be back soon. I’m sorry that we will have to cancel our walk today.” Derek’s smile drops and Stiles feels it in his gut. “Or you could come with me?” 

 

Derek’s face does several things all at once and Stiles doesn’t quite know how to decipher it all - a walk would be nice, but nice enough to go to town? Just as Stiles opens his mouth to take the offer back, call himself silly for even thinking it, Derek replies.

 

“I would love to, are you leaving now?” He can feel the way his jaw nearly drops, but he clenches his teeth, holding back the exclamation he so very much wants to let go of.

 

“Uh, yes! Yes, we must hurry or I fear Erica will have a heart attack or murder someone for moving an ornament two inches to the left,” Stiles says making Derek chuckle. 

 

From there they rush off to the garage to grab one of the cars to take into town. They talk while Stiles drives, joking about this and that and how Stiles didn’t take this job to be a chauffeur. When they reach their first stop Stiles is entirely unprepared for the questions his acquaintance at the furniture shop has -

 

“So, who is this lovely fellow, Mr. Stilinski?”

 

Derek meets his panicked gaze while Mr. Henderson turns to dig for the jar of wood wax on a shelf behind him. Of course no one would recognize Derek after all these years, he hadn’t been beyond his house in ages let alone all the way into town. Stiles’ mind rapid fires excuses and explanations at him until he lands on one that he thinks will just have to do.

 

“This is my cousin,” Stiles says stiltedly, Derek eyeing him grumpily, “Miguel.”

 

“Oh? What an unusual name. Where are you from, Miguel?” Mr. Henderson turns around with a jar in hand. 

 

“Spain, he’s from Spain. Doesn’t speak English I’m afraid.”

 

“Well, tell him it is lovely to meet him and I wish him the best in his travels.” Stiles thanks Mr. Henderson while he pays and they don;t waste a second in retreating from the shop. It isn’t until they’re in the car and on their way to the next store that Stiles breaks. His laughter is loud and obviously jarring if Derek’s jolt is anything to go by.

 

“I can’t take you anywhere, can I,  _ Miguel _ ?”

 

“You are insane, Stiles,” Derek says, shaking his head with a smile. The rest of the trip goes smoothly. Well, mostly smooth. Until they meet with Mrs. Santoz at one of the fresh produce stores who takes to “Miguel” and his story of Spain.

 

“Oh, really? My grandmother came from Spain. My Spanish is a little rusty but maybe I could speak with him.” Before Stiles can even attempt to come up with something like that Miguel is a mute or any other excuse she’s already going off in Spanish, “Buenas tardes, Miguel, es un placer conocerte. Mi abuela era de España. ¿De dónde vienes?” 

 

Stiles is ready to have a small break down, how is he suppose to explain this away? What can he do? How does he fix thi-

 

“Es un placer, señora. Vengo de Mallorca, un pueblo de montaña.” Stiles can’t help the look of pure shock on his face as he watches Derek interact with the woman, speaking with ease and with an accent he’s only ever heard at the docks where Spanish ships have come to drop off spices and other goods from Spain. When they finally leave Stiles still hasn’t fully recovered. Then Derek reaches over and brushes under his chin with laughter and mirth in his eyes.

 

“You had a little dirt from when your jaw dropped and hit the floor,” Derek says as they walk to the car and out of earshot of Mrs. Santoz. He squawks indignantly and bats Derek’s hand away, regretting not relishing in the touch as he pulled away.

 

“You know  _ Spanish _ ?” 

 

“I’ve had a lot of time with those books before you came along,” Derek smiles softly, and there’s that damned blush again.

 

***

 

The room is alive with the sound of people and musicians playing on the stage Boyd had constructed purely from this event. The guests milled around happily, smiling and admiring the new Hale manor. It had been a sight to behold all the guests walk into the entry hall in awe as Stiles took their coats with Scott’s help. No one could quite get over how it had been rebuilt from what they remembered from all those years ago. 

 

Now that all seventy of the guests had arrived, Stiles walked the edges of the room, keeping an eye out for anything not going according to plan. He watched as Isaac helped Melissa keep the refreshment table stocked and looking nice and how Erica was milling amongst the party goers with Boyd’s arm around her waist. Laura could be spotted out in the courtyard with a man Stiles remembers being introduced as Lord Parrish although he preferred to be called deputy Parrish. He was one of his father’s employees, determined to keep working despite inheriting a long lost uncle’s fortune. 

 

Stiles saw Scott and Kira sway to the waltz that had been requested. He smiled fondly as Isaac approached Lady Cora, holding out his hand with a light bow in a question to dance. Cora smiled bashfully before accepting his hand to be lead out to the dance floor. 

 

“Where is the lavatory?” Stiles startles a little, turning to find a couple behind him. One a prim looking blond man with stiff shoulders and a suit worth more than most buildings in town. Then there was the woman. A strawberry blond goddess, having walked straight out of a Renaissance painting with her ivory skin and sharp gaze. Stiles knew in another life, he would be head over heels for her. 

 

“Out this first door and down the hall, third door to your left,” Stiles said gesturing to the door beside him, ready to show the man the way before being scoffed at. 

 

“I can find it myself,” He said before leaving with the turn of his heel.

 

“Don’t mind Jackson, he just had a pipe up his ass about how lovely this place looks. He was sure it would be a hell hole,” The woman speaks, flipping a perfect curl over her shoulder. 

 

“Hopefully the door doesn’t hit him on the way out, lest the pipe get shoved further,” Stiles grumbles. The woman barks a laugh that was obviously startled out of her judging by the way she covers her mouth with a delicate hand.

 

“Sassy little butler, are you?”

 

“House steward.”

 

“Oh, I apologize for the offence,” The woman says in mock apology, placing a hand over her heart. “What is your name?”

 

“Stiles, and you must be Lady Lydia, of the Martin house?”

 

“Very well done, how did you know?”

 

“You are wearing the same perfume you sprayed your acceptance with,” He tells her plainly. She looks mildly impressed as she assesses him.

 

“Interesting. A little disturbing, but interesting. Dance with me, Jackson has two left feet.” Without verbal acceptance, she simply tugs at his wrist with a surprisingly strong grip until they face one another on the dance floor. Lady Lydia is a lovely dance partner, easy on the eyes and supple and soft where he holds her waist. She’s quick witted and sharp, but Stiles’ heartbeat remains untouched. At the end of the song, Stiles spots Derek looming in a corner, likely only here because Laura demanded it. He looks pitiful, hunched in a corner, deterring hopeful dance partners with his surly gaze. 

 

“You must excuse me, Lady, I have a pressing matter to attend to,” He says as he pulls away from their embrace with a gracious bow.

 

“It better be involve pressing that dark haired man against a wall, he looks like he would like to see my head on a pike,” Lydia comments off handedly. Before Stiles can respond past his shock, she’s walking away and over to where Jackson must be standing to the side of the dance floor. 

 

Stiles shakes his head, tearing his gaze away from the woman who would likely take over the world, and instead fixes it on a certain house master. Stiles smiles as he approaches, heart flipping as he thinks of asking Derek to join him to dance. Wouldn’t that be lovel- Stiles stops in his tracks when Derek eyes snap over to him. His gaze is hard and cold and nothing like this afternoon in town. It throws Stiles off and he continues his approach with care. 

 

“Hello, Derek,” He starts brightly, hoping to banish the uneasy feeling in his gut with false cheer until it becomes real. 

 

“Mr. Stilinski,” Derek nods curtly before tipping back the last of the champagne in his glass and stalking off. Stiles is left with his heart aching and confused as to what could have gone so wrong in the hours between blushing in the car to now. 

 

“Mr. Stilinski? Mr. Stilinski!” He turns at the sound of his name seeing Deputy Parrish approach him at a hurried pace, Laura tailing him with his hand in hers. 

 

“Lord Parrish?” Stiles dips into a small bow as the man approaches but the man waves him off.

 

“Mr. Stilinski, I just got news from the department,” Parrish’s face is all worry lines and concerned eyes and suddenly Stiles’ heart is plummeting. “Your father was apprehending the violent burglar we have been tracking for weeks. He’s - he’s been shot.”

 

Stiles’ heart jumped to his throat, threatening to choke off what little air he suddenly seems to be getting. He could feel his pulse skyrocket and it’s pounding in his ears that felt stuffed with cotton. His chest hurts and he feels like he’s dying and hie can’t feel his fingers anymore. His knees go weak and that’s when he realizes Parrish has him wrapped in his arms, keeping him from hitting the ground. Laura is in front of him, her mouth is moving and then Scott and Isaac are behind her with matching looks of concern. 

 

“Stiles, you need to breathe, honey,” Laura’s voice filters through the rush in his ears and he tries to comply but his chest  _ hurts.  _

 

“C-can’t.”

 

“Yes, you can.” Laura’s voice takes on a strange quality that reverberates through his mind and body and suddenly his lungs are burning with the rush of air flooding them at once and he pushes his hand against his sternum to ease the ache. 

 

“My, my dad.”

 

“Don’t worry, Stiles, we’ll take you to him. He’s at Deaton’s, right?” The last part is directed at Parrish who slowly levers Stiles to his feet, nodding. “Okay, we are going right now, alright? Your dad is going to be fine, I promise, Stiles.”

 

#####  PACK TAKES CARE OF PACK

“Deaton, it’s Laura.” Laura calls into the house as she opens the front door to the doctor’s home where Stiles has been told his dad was taken for treatment. All Parrish knew was that his father had been shot, no matter how many times he asked the deputy he never had any new information and eventually Laura had to hush him, smoothing the hair on his arm in a soothing gesture.

 

“In the back,” Deaton calls from some back room and Stiles doesn’t wait for anyone else, simply rushes into the house and towards the sound of the voice. 

 

He isn’t even fully in the room when a black man with a grim expression steps in front of him and holds a hand to his chest.

 

“I recommend you don’t come in just yet, Mr. Stilinski.” Stiles wants to protest, wants to push past the shorter man and  _ see his father  _ but there’s something about the doctor that he can’t seem to place. It’s a feeling that tingles under the surface of his skin, a warning of something he can’t quite grasp but has the instinct to trust in the face of not knowing what he might be getting into by arguing.

 

“Deaton, how is he?” Parrish is suddenly behind Stiles, worried and tense, trying to crane his neck to get a good look behind the man. 

 

“Let’s take this to the living room, shall we?” Stiles opens his mouth to protest but Laura is gripping his upper arm and guiding him away before he can get the words out. Once they’re seated Deaton begins again.

 

“Commissioner Stilinski has taken several bullets to his upper abdomen. One to his shoulder, left lung and diaphragm. His lung has collapsed and breathing is a struggle as we try to control the bleeding. His blood loss is significant,” Stiles chokes on his heartbeat, feels the panic well up in his stomach. The only thing keeping him from another full blown panic attack is Laura’s firm grip on his thigh, squeezing and rubbing a thumb back and forth in a constant rhythm. 

 

“Will he recover?” Stiles manages to choke out. He already knows, he just  _ knows  _ that no one can survive the damage his father has taken. 

 

“My hopes are low. I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Stilinski.” The room falls into silence as Stiles’ breath tears through his throat, choking him more often than actually supplying him with oxygen. There’s no tears though, he is so beyond tears right now. All he can think is that he  _ has  _ to go back into that room and say his good-byes. Oh God, he has to say  _ good-bye.  _

 

“Deaton, can I save him?” Laura’s voice is firm and almost pleading. Stiles looks up at her in confusion, how could she possibly save him.

 

“Ms. Hale, I don-”

 

“Will it save him?” She asks again with an edge to her voice.

 

“It’s a better chance of survival than he currently has but Ms. Hale-,”

 

“No, Deaton, I trust him and he’s basically pack as it is. We have to try,” Stiles is gaping openly between the two, utterly confused at to what’s being discussed. What’s suppose to help his father? What is Laura supposed to do? What’s this about  _ pack _ ? “Is he lucid?”

 

Deatons sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, “Yes,” he says, standing and leading a very determined Laura back to his father’s room, but not before she looks him very pointedly in the eye and tells him to stay where he is. He stares after them, unable to convince his legs to stand up and follow and instead turns to the deputy he was left with.

 

“What the bloody hell is going on?” Stiles’ voice is hoarse and dry, a pained whisper of disbelief.

 

“It would be best if Laura told you herself. Just wait and everything will be explained.” Parrish reaches out, brushing his knuckles over his shoulder with a smile. And that’s all Stiles seems capable of, sitting and waiting, paralyzed with all the chaos and fear swirling inside of him. It takes an eternity before Laura and Deaton return, her face set and looking like she’s about to face something she doesn’t feel entirely prepared for.

 

“Stiles, there’s some things I need to explain to you. Alone.” Parrish stands and leaves walks out of the room with Deaton without so much as a questioning look. 

 

“What’s going on?” Stiles’ voice cracks as he looks at her, feeling hurt and confused and so worried he’s probably getting grey hairs as they spoke.

 

“My family is not as you think, Stiles, but they are no less the people you have come to love as family,” She says, not sternly, but like she’s creating something concrete and as much as he doesn’t understand he still feels himself latch on to it. “What I am going to tell you is a very dearly kept secret known by so very few because of how dangerous this all is. But I trust you, Stiles. I trust you and the bond you’ve made with my pack and I know that you care about them,” She takes a deep breath with closed eyes, when they reopen, they’re as glowing red that seem to penetrate through him and into his very soul, “We’re werewolves.”

 

He sucks in a startled gasp, holding it as Laura’s eyes continue to shine that luminous and piercing red. He watches in awe and terror as she opens her mouth and he spots elongated canines protruding from her gums. Slowly, as not to spook him, she raise her hand, palm up and slowly extends claws that Stiles knows are razor sharp and perfect for slashing his delicate human skin. He blinks, shakes his head, tries to remember to breathe as he takes it all in. 

 

“You’re scared, but you’re not?” Laura’s head tilts to the side as she watches him curiously.

 

“Oh, I am  _ very  _ scared, but it’s like you said - you’re still Laura.” He shrugs, eyes still locked on the claws still held out, large and yet not imposing. She isn’t threatening him, simply showing. “And honestly, if you were going to kill me, it would have been when I spilled the raspberry jam on your favorite dress last month.” Laura’s laughter is loud and bright, a sweet sound that pangs in his chest with how it reminds him of his mother.

 

“That was quite the disaster,” she agrees with a smiling nod. 

 

“How does this help my dad?” His voice is horribly small again, quiet and rough as he looks up at Laura. He eyes are that odd Hale-hazel and the fangs have disappeared. 

 

“I am the alpha of the Hale pack, everyone except Melissa are my betas. But we’re all a pack,” Stiles nods along, wishing this were under circumstances so that he could be curious and thirsty for the knowledge she was imparting on him but he just couldn’t. All that mattered was his father. “As the alpha, I have the power to make betas out of humans. Most wolves are born, but if I bite a human they will turn.”

 

“I still don’t understand.”

 

“Stiles, have you ever noticed that we never need a doctor?” She asks and he shakes his head as he thinks back on the last few months. “Werewolves heal exponentially faster than human.”

 

“If you turn my father, he could become a werewolf and heal.” She smiles, proud but he shakes his head, “But he has no idea what he would be getting into, he doesn’t know -”

 

“Your father was the Commissioner when the fire happened,” Laura interrupts him, swallowing before continuing, “I needed someone to trust and your father has always been a good man and my wolf was telling me he was worth the risk. He’s known about us for several years.”

 

“So, you’re just going to turn him?”

 

“No, Stiles, never without permission. When I went to see him with Deaton, he was lucid enough to agree, but he wanted you to know what was happening before I did anything.”

 

“Of course!” Stiles jumps up, “Save him, please, save him, Laura.” Stiles pleads, she smiles and stands as well and leads him down the hall and back to where Stiles first tried to push past Deaton. 

 

His father is lying on a plain bed, made with simple sheets and the blanket folded and laid over his feet. He isn’t wearing a shirt and Stiles can see the bandaging and his gaze locks on where his father’s blood is soaking through and creates blooms against the pristine white. He looks haggard and worn, skin ashen and dull. He looks like he’s dying. He’s across the room and holding his father’s hand in less than a second, gripping tightly like that will ensure he doesn’t drift away and into unwakeable sleep.

 

“Stiles, I’m going to remove the bandages around his waist, can you help me?” He nods, eyes on his father as he moves to help her unwrap the gauze. Once it’s removed, he watches as the wound that’s been revealed bleeds sluggishly, oozing down his side. Laura wipes the area and then crouches down so she’s eyelevel with his hip. “Just breathe, Stiles, he’s going to be perfectly okay.”

 

The bite isn’t anything extravagant or special. Laura’s fangs dig into his father’s flesh and he groans with the added pain but just like that she’s moving away and wiping her face of the blood with a cloth. Stiles watches in rapt awe as the wound he and Laura had previously revealed slowly knits itself back together before his eyes. He gasps and hears Laura chuckle beside him. 

 

Suddenly his dad is the one gasping as he wakes, eyes flying open and before Stiles can even blink, Laura is next his bed, leaning over it and flashing her eyes with a low growl. Stiles watches as his dad flashes bright golden eyes and bares his neck under Laura’s scrutiny.

 

“Dad?”

 

“Stiles,” His dad’s voice falters with emotion overwhelming it but Stiles doesn’t care, just jumps up onto the bed with his father like a child and tackles him in the best Stilinski hug he can manage with his limbs weak with relief and lack of adrenaline. Laura rumbles in what Stiles takes as content happiness before looking to the doorway behind them.

 

“We’ll be taking him to the manor now, Deaton. Thank you for all your help.”

 

“It’s always an honor to serve the Hale pack, Laura. I do wish you and your new packmate the best of luck,” Stiles turns to see Deaton dip his head and leave, revealing a very relieved looking deputy Parrish. 

 

“Ready to go home, Commissioner?”

 

“Get me out of here, it smells like antiseptic and sage. Not my favorite combination.” Stiles laughs. He laughs and he laughs until his abdomen hurts but it doesn’t matter because his father is okay. 

 

#####  WELCOME TO THE FAMILY

On the way back to the Hale manor, Laura indulges his now savage curiosity. She patiently answers his questions about the supernatural and he learns so much that his head hurts. All about full moons and beta shifts and healing and wolfsbane and their heightened senses.

 

When he rethinks the last few months, a lot of things make more sense. The way Isaac seemed to know when Stiles was aching and hurt after a long day, having probably scented it on him whenever he walked past. Stiles was grateful because the blond man never asked but always offered a towel full of ice as he went to his room after dinner. It explained why Erica was always nagging him about laundry, before the smell reached his human nose they were obviously bothering Erica’s more sensitive senses. 

 

As Laura explains pack dynamics and bonding, a few more things click into place for him. The dinners they ate together every night, how casual the staff was with the Hales despite the glaring social status differences. Laura’s seniority over Derek despite social norms and “man of the house” cliches. She explained her calming presence and how she was a born leader and fiercely protective. Scent marking and now all the casual touches and glancing passes made more sense. The pack was tactile and by brushing past him and rubbing their scents onto him, they were accepting him as one of their own.

 

_ Derek had been the first to touch him.  _

 

Stiles zones out a bit as Laura turns more towards his father and explaining more about pack dynamics and being introduced to the pack as a new member. It seems glaringly obvious now, how Derek had brushed their shoulders together that first day in what Stiles had previously assumed to be a cold and unwelcome gesture. But now he has a new pair of eyes to review their interactions with and that’s exactly what he does. 

 

Derek had probably scented his attraction from that very first meeting. He flushes with the thought that Derek knew to some degree the thoughts Stiles had believed to be his own. He wonders if it was so obvious the way his heart sped up in the beta’s presence, if he could hear the clicking of him swallowing nervously when he spoke. Why was Derek so bad at locating him? Maybe, no, that couldn’t be why. He couldn’t possibly have been procrastinating finding him just as Stiles did when needing to find the man? 

 

He’s snapped from his thoughts as the car stops in the driveway in front of the Hale manor. 

 

“I suggest you hold your breath until we’re in the house. The outside air will be full of new smells and such so it will be a little overwhelming, but the house has been insulated to protect against the worst of it,” Laura explains, giving his father the chance to take a deep breath and cover his nose before exiting the car. Once they’re inside with the front door safely shut his father takes a deep breath.

 

“I have to tell you, Ms. Hale, you have tried explaining it in the past but you did it no justice,” The Commissioner smiles as he shakes his head and takes in his surroundings. 

 

“Lycanthropy is a very unique thing, isn’t it?” She smiles fondly at her new beta before continuing, “Melissa is calling for dinner, I think it’s time you meet the pack. It’s grown since we last saw you,” Laura says, gesturing for them to follow her down to the dining hall. 

 

Upon entering Stiles is met with hustle and bustle that he’s grown to crave at the end of his days. He smiles as the staff no, pack go about setting the table and helping Melissa get dinner out. He finds himself between Isaac and Erica at a counter putting the finishing touches on mashed potatoes, smiling at them. Isaac looked a little tentative as Stiles approached but Stiles knew how to fix that. He ruffled the man’s hair affectionately, rubbing his knuckles over his neck before turning to Erica and wrapping an arm around her. He feels how they deflate with the overt scent marking.

 

He watches as the pack takes to his father, openly sniffing and cautiously touching his shoulders. Laura is sure to keep a hand on his forearm and leading him around and eventually to sit on her left with Parrish at her right. Stiles spots Derek here and there but never in one spot for long and never meeting his gaze and a small stone like weight settles in his gut. It doesn’t take long for the rest of the pack to settle in around the rest of the table and quiet down when their alpha clears her throat. 

 

“Tonight is a night of celebration,” She declares with a wide smile, “We are introducing not one but two new packmates to our group and I couldn’t be happier.” Laura had explained this earlier when Stiles didn’t seem to understand humans in packs. A pack was not purely made of wolves, it wasn’t uncommon for humans to marry in and for those marriages to produce human children. The Hales had plenty of human aunts, uncles, cousins and even a grandmother before the fire. 

 

“A toast to a growing pack,” Parrish said, raising his glass and everyone follows suit. Stiles watches Derek from where he sits across the table and down to the left as he raises his glass and tips back a hearty gulp of wine that Melissa had assured was one of their best. He’s pulled from his stare when he catches his father doing the same from the corner of his eye.

 

“Dad! You know that you shouldn’t be having any wi-”

 

“Ah ah ah, Laura said superhuman healing also meant superhuman health. I am off the heart healthy hook, son.” Stiles snapped his jaw shut and glared while his father chuckled and continued to eat his steak and potatoes. He couldn’t help the small smile that took over his grumpy features when his father complemented Melissa and her cooking causing the woman to blush. He had always known the two would hit it off. 

 

This, this feels like home. 

 

But as much as he’s enjoying the feel of family and love and  _ pack _ , there’s still something niggling at the back of his mind. It makes him want to squirm in his seat and maybe he is because his father is looking at him out of the corner of his eye, but it doesn’t matter because there’s something that just  _ isn’t right _ . 

 

That’s when he looks up from his plate and seems to instantly lock eyes with Derek. Derek looks away as soon as he seems to register that Stiles is looking back but Stiles can’t tear his eyes away. Not from Derek’s stiff shoulders or the way he grips his fork like a weapon. Not the tense lines in his forehead or how he just knows that Derek’s other hand is curled into a fist under the table. Stiles doesn’t know what’s wrong but his heart is aching to find out and fix it already because this is nothing like the Derek that tips his head back to soak in the sun. 

 

Once dinner is finished, everyone helps clean up before shuffling off to their rooms after such a long and exciting night. Laura leads Stiles and his father to where Stiles’ room is, explaining how Isaac had switched rooms so the Commissioner could be next to Stiles. No one has to know how Stiles’ heart swells with fondness. He doesn’t get teary eyed when Scott and Kira say they will be helping Deaton make a little baggie of different plants and herbs that will mute scents for his father while he transitions into his abilities. He will deny that mist that blurs his vision when Boyd hugs the Commissioner goodnight and says they can go to the garage together so that he can see the cars he had taken an interest in over conversation. Laura doesn’t mention the tear that slips over his lashes when she says “Welcome to the family”. 

 

Everything else could wait for the morning.

 

#####  WHAT’S THE POINT OF SUPER-HEARING IF YOU DON’T LISTEN

The next morning, after making sure his father was situated and was going to be meeting with Laura and Deaton for the day to explain more about being a werewolf, Stiles went in search of Derek. 

 

Of course, it wasn’t really  _ searching  _ when the person you were looking for was habitually in only one place. He still felt that stone of apprehension low in his gut, seeming to tug at his heart strings while he walked. Derek had been distant the night before at dinner and downright cold before he had found out about his father’s predicament. Stiles shook the worries from his mind, surely it was a misunderstanding and would be cleared up in time to take advantage of the warm fall morning. 

 

The thing about someone having a strict routine is that it is so utterly jarring when it’s broken. It almost feels like a punch to the chest when Derek isn’t in his usual spot in the library and Stiles stands there for several long seconds just staring at the chair where he usually sits like it has somehow offended him. Or like the plush cushions have eaten the man alive when no one was looking. 

 

“Derek?” Maybe he was up getting another book from the shelves. That was a possibility, it’s not like they magically appeared after he finished the last one. Stiles walked amongst the shelves, traveling up the the second story but the stone in his gut grew. If Derek was here, he would have heard Stiles call for him even if he whispered it. 

 

His next idea was he might be getting a snack from the kitchen. He walks there and finds Melissa going about her business and getting ready for lunch, but no Derek.

 

“Melissa? Have you seen Derek?”

 

“No, dear, can’t say I have,” She says with an apologetic smile before asking, “Does your father like green beans? Because I was thinking of making green bean casserole but I wasn’t sure if he would like it and I just wanted to ask in case-”

 

“I’m sure he’ll love it Melissa, he’d likely sell his soul for any of your cooking,” Stiles says reassuringly and smiling. 

 

After his check with Melissa, he goes to Derek’s room. Maybe he needed something from there, a personal book or to grab a jacket? He was aware that these excuses were wearing thin. No such luck at his room. Kira and Scott had both assured him that he they couldn’t hear him inside so Stiles wasn’t being ignored. Or was he? Was Derek  _ avoiding  _ him? The stone grew larger yet and it felt like his insides were rolling around in uncomfortable protest.

 

He asked Erica and she hadn’t seen hide nor hare of their elusive master and packmate, Boyd said Derek hadn’t stepped foot in the garage in days. Isaac hadn’t seen him in the gardens and Parrish and Laura hadn’t seen him all morning. He was wallowing in self pity and guilt for he didn’t even know what when Cora found him.

 

“Stiles,” Her voice rang through the very much empty-of-Derek library, shocking him from his slouch in the armchair he had banished himself to. 

 

“Uh, Lady Cora, I, uh, what can I do for you?” Stiles trips over his own feet as he stands, shocked and a little wary with the sharp look in the woman’s eyes. 

 

“You are going to get your ass moving and fix my brother,” She states plainly, jabbing a finger into his chest when she reaches. To say he’s surprised is an understatement. Cora was several inches shorter than him and yet he was in no way reassured of his position. Of course there was the whole ‘werewolf’ thing that made sure he would in no way win a fight, but still she was much smaller in stature. But that wasn’t what caught him so off guard. 

 

He and Cora didn’t interact very often. He say her at meals and went to town to fetch her various things when she asked and the like, but they were not nearly as close as he was with the others. At first he thought it was because she just flat out didn’t like him, but as time wore on and new information was revealed, he just found that she spent most of her time with Isaac. She wasn’t big on group interaction outside of pack get togethers and she simply didn’t care enough to try and get to know him after so many disastrous house stewards before him. And if he was honest, he didn’t blame her. 

 

But here she was, all up in his space and actually  _ growling _ at him. Let’s just say he was a little off kilter. 

 

“W-what?” He replied smartly, blinking down at her in confusion.

 

“ _ You _ come in here and make doe eyes at my brother and smile and joke and get him to put down those godforsaken books and actually  _ go outside  _ and now suddenly he’s going back to the days where he was basically a literate neanderthal. You. Will. Fix. It.” 

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” He says, lifting his hands in surrender when her growl spikes in volume. He slips past her and out into the open so he feels less like prey being backed into a corner.

 

“No, I am not letting Der slip back into the dark ages just because you are an idiot -”

 

“I didn’t do anything!”

 

“You changed everything!”

 

“I took him outside, congratulations to me,” He shouts back sarcastically because even with the recent knowledge of werewolves existing he has no self-preservation instinct, “I don’t see why that is such a big deal.”

 

“He was punishing himself, you thick skulled, insufferable ass!” Cora practically roars, fangs elongated and eyes flashing. She’s huffing breaths when the fangs retract and Stiles is scared into silence. “He didn’t leave this house for nearly six years because he didn’t think he deserved it. Do you know what it’s like to be a werewolf on the full moon?” Stiles shakes his head when Cora raises an expectant eyebrow, “Your wolf goes crazy if you don’t let it free, even just a little bit. The pack will go for a run, Laura leads us through the forest and we run, wrestle and just let ourselves  _ be _ .” Cora sighs, rubbing at her face with her palms. 

 

“Derek didn’t let himself go?” Stiles asks quietly, allowing the information to sink in and now he needed to know everything about it. 

 

“No,” She says plainly, not elaborating to Stiles’ dismay.

 

“Why not?” He pushes softly, why wouldn’t Derek follow his instincts? Why not be with and bond with his pack when his wolf needed it the most.

 

“He doesn’t think he deserves it, Stiles. He blames himself for so much, so he’s going to punish himself.”

 

“But what for?” Stiles’ voice is thin and he can hear the way he’s pleading with her, he  _ needs  _ to know. Cora looks up from her hands finally and her eyes look so wary that Stiles’ heart breaks a little. 

 

That’s when he learns about Kate Argent. He learns about a young Derek who let himself be swayed by a beautiful, charming,  _ manipulative  _ woman. He listens as Cora tells him in vague terms how Derek was milked for information and left to the flames when Kte was through. He learns about hunters and broken codes, about why werewolves are so secretive and why some of those house stewards were fired rather than quit. There were too many dangers that came with allowing someone to get close, some people weren’t worth the risk.

 

“He’s been punishing himself for years, Stiles. And here you come all bright and happy and new and suddenly Derek is outside and smiling like a lovestruck fool.” Cora shakes her head, then looks up when Stiles tries clearing the lump in his throat.

 

“But what’s wrong this time? Where is he? I just- I don’t know, Cora. What am I supposed to do? I don’t know how to fix this,” He says on the verge of desperately as Cora stands and smooths out her skirt. She looks up at him and fixes him with a determined set to her mouth and a flash of golden beta eyes.

 

“You will figure it out, Stiles, you always do.” And with that she’s gone with a flick of her skirt and silent footfalls, leaving Stiles to think and plan. Think and plan.

 

***

 

Stiles is nearly half asleep again when he hears it - the creak of the library door. He sits perfectly still behind the shelf he had chosen much earlier that morning, going so far as to make his breaths as shallow as he could handle as not to make anymore noise than necessary. Hopefully Derek wouldn’t be listening for Stiles’ heartbeat so early in the morning when he would normally be in bed.

 

He strains his ears to hear Derek shuffle across the room and sit in his favorite chair. He waits for the rustle of pages before moving.

 

“Derek Hale, if you so much as think of standing from that chair,” Stiles starts as he rushes to stand in front of Derek, blocking the most efficient path to the door. Derek raises an eyebrow as if to ask ‘what? what are you going to do, human?’ and Stiles huffs indignantly, “I’ll get Laura to punch you so the bruises actually stay.” He glares at Derek, crossing his arms until the werewolf bookmarks his page.

 

“I didn’t smell you,” is all he says. Rolling his eyes he pulls a small burlap bag out of his pocket and holds it out for Derek to see.

 

“Deaton is helping my dad adjust to werewolf sense with these dampeners. Blocks out a lot of smells to an extent.” He shrugs and tosses the bag to the side and watches Derek’s nose twitch adorably as he’s suddenly hit with eau de Stilinski full force. “You have to admit that was pretty clever.”

 

“What do you want?” Derek asked.

 

“Stiles.” He interjects.

 

“What?” Or Stiles assumes that what Derek means to say, in reality he simply raised his eyebrows questioningly.

 

“Stiles. You forgot the ‘Stiles’ in that sentence.”

 

“You don’t make any sense,” Derek starts to rise from his chair but Stiles is there in an instant and putting a hand on his chest to keep him from getting up. The man growls but goes back to sitting, sure he’s perched on the edge like he’s ready to spring up at a moment's notice but Stiles will take it as a win. Especially considering the man could have easily pushed past him without so much as attempting to use his supernatural advantage.

 

“No, I make perfect sense. You used to say my name all the time, I almost thought it was weird how often you used my name in conversation but I just took it as something you did. It started to grow on me, really. But ever since last night at the party it’s always ‘Mr. Stilinski’ or no name at all.”

 

“And?” Derek is glaring up through his eyebrows. A lesser man would cower under his gaze or maybe just someone who had actual self-preservation. Stiles had no such inclination.

 

“And I want to know what changed.” Stiles said. Derek huffs, shaking his head with a mirthless smile.

 

“I am not having this conversation, if you will excuse me,” Derek says, up and out of the chair before Stiles can stop him.

 

“We are having this conversation, Derek, right now,” Stiles voice rises as he rushes forward and swoops in front of Derek and stopping him in his brisk walk to the door. Derek growls, a blatant indicator that he was not happy and plenty ready to eat Stiles if he so chose. 

 

“No. We. Are. Not.” Derek bites out around fang but Stiles just mutters something about siblings. 

 

“Yes, we are. Do you want to know why?” Stiles asks. Derek huffs and that’s all the approval Stiles could ask for so he continues, “Because you came outside when I asked.”

 

Stiles watches as something dark closes in over Derek’s beautiful eyes and he knows that he is toeing a very treacherous line, but he has to. They’re pack now, officially, and Stiles won’t be content until whatever it is between them is settled.

 

“I’m not talking abo-” Derek starts.

 

“Yes,  _ we  _ are talking about this because it’s important and I’m not okay with just leaving us like this,” Stiles says stubbornly, but noticing how his voice softens towards the end.

 

“I don’t deserve to be happy, Stiles,” Derek says with a sigh, like he’s said it before and very used to defending his stance in the matter. Stiles opens his mouth to respond but Derek talks over him, “I don’t deserve it and I was reminded of it so now I’m taking a step back.”

 

Stiles stood there and gaped at him, his mouth opening and closing like a fish, unable to properly comprehend what Derek has just told him. He looks at the man before him, with his gorgeous eyes fixed on something to the right and over Stiles’ shoulder. He sees the tension held in his shoulders, how a crease is forming between his eyebrows and the thin line of his lips. This is a man who holds the weight of nearly an entire family’s ashes on his shoulders, who has been keeping himself from anything he thinks he doesn’t deserve, beats himself internally every full moon as a monthly reminder what he believes is his fault. Has been doing it for  _ years.  _

 

He feels like maybe he should have seen it sooner. The pain held in Hale-hazel eyes and reluctance to just let himself  _ live.  _ But maybe . . . maybe it just wasn’t there for when Stiles was around to see.

 

“I make you happy,” Stiles means to ask but the words come out more like a statement and he lets them hang there as Derek shifts his weight around uncomfortably. “Derek.”

 

“Yes, Stiles, you make me happy,” His sharp gaze cuts up to make eye contact with him, eyebrows raised in a defiant  _ ‘satisfied?’ _ .

 

“Well, isn’t that utter bullshit.” Derek’s eyebrows draw together as if threatening to combine into one and Stiles holds back his laughter because this was a serious moment and his easily distracted mind was not going to ruin it. 

 

“What.” So maybe Stiles wasn’t the only one who lost the ability to ask questions.

 

“I refuse to let you continue like this just because you somehow have it mixed up in your head that you’re the bad guy here, Derek,” Stiles says sternly, trying for his best ‘no nonsense’ voice, obviously failing when Derek opens his mouth to protest, “No, none of this was your fault and maybe you’re not ready to accept that right now and that’s okay but you need to be open to it the idea of you being happy.”

 

“Stiles -”

 

“No, you don’t get to say my name all soft and sad and think that I’ll just give in, because I want you to be happy, because you  _ do deserve it. _ ” Stiles continues, glaring at the werewolf as if that will drill the point home. “You’re a good man, Derek Hale, and you want to know how I know? Because you took in Melissa and Scott when in America and you’re the one who found Boyd and and gave him a family who wanted him. You brought in Erica when you found her on the street after she was fired from her job after a seizure. You rescued Isaac and you were the first one to scent mark me when I came here.” 

 

Derek stares at him, blatantly stares while Stiles goes off and lists all of the good, and selfless deeds he knows of. And there’s probably countless more little things that could,  _ should  _ be said but that can come around again later. He stares at him like he’s something impossible and Stiles would be lying if he he said that didn’t do something just perfect to his heart.

 

“You make Melissa her favorite cookies on Saturdays so she doesn’t have to make them herself. You’re the one who’s been ordering those art books when Laura got interested and let me take the credit even though I was pretty sure I was going a little insane for missing an  _ entirely new section of books _ . You help Boyd in the garage and bring him food when he’s too immersed in his work to remember to eat. You’re the one who folds the laundry when it’s clean before Erica has the chance to do it herself and you bought Kira the origami paper imported from Japan. She cried for hours while smiling like a loon making paper cranes.” Stiles takes a deep breath and reaches out to touch Derek’s cheek but drops his hand before making the contact, “You deserve to be happy, too, Der.”

 

Derek stands perfectly still for what Stiles might have once considered to be far too long, but Derek also isn’t leaving so Stiles waits him out.

 

“But don’t think I’m being too selfless or anything,” Stiles says with an attempt at a laugh, “Because if I make you happy then I want you to try to keep me because you make me happy, too.” Derek exhales like he’s been punched and suddenly Stiles has a nose brushing over his neck and firm arms around his waist. The tension that had building up in his muscles since he had begun hiding behind the bookshelf earlier this morning leaves him in a rush as he just lets himself relax into Derek’s arms.

 

“I don’t deserve you,” Derek whispers into the delicate skin of his throat, tightening his grip like saying so will make Stiles leave.

 

“I don’t think this is about what we deserve, Der,” Stiles says back with a smile as he lets himself run his fingers through Derek’s hair, soft and smooth and perfect. “What do you want?”

 

“Pack, home,” Derek says instantly and Stiles smiles, “You.” Stiles pushes at Derek’s shoulders a bit until they’re face to face. He smiles while tracing thumbs over Derek’s cheekbones, down his jaw, the lines that show up when he smiles, where his dimples would be, the arch of his eyebrows, the curve of his lower lip. 

 

“I think you should kiss me now,” Stiles says quietly. Derek leans forward, brushes their noses together in such an innocent and purely affectionate gesture that Stiles’ heart might just burst out of his chest with how it swells. The first touch of lips is dry, chaste and simple. It’s long from perfect. Stiles tried meeting him halfway and they ended up pressing too hard and his breath caught uncomfortably in his throat and he is very aware of how his lips have chapped with nervous chewing all morning. But none of that seems to matter. Because it’s them and that’s all that really matters.

 

Derek gently pushes Stiles as the kiss deepens, getting a little more wet and a little less timid. He’s gently guided backwards until the backs of his knees hit the edge of a couch and he topples back. Derek leans down, prepared to follow him down an-

 

“What’s wrong? I heard Stiles’ heart rate spik- oh.” They tear apart and both turn their gaze to find the Commissioner with a surprised and startled look on his face. Stiles probably turns an alarming shade of red as Derek straightens up awkwardly. 

 

“Nothing is wrong, dad.”

 

“Hello, sir.” Derek says. Stiles claps a hand over his eyes hoping that maybe the situation will go away if he ignores it like an ostrich with its head in the sand. 

 

“I- I well- I’m going to go. Breakfast is nearly on, but we will be talking later,” Stiles’ father finishes sternly, pointing at the them both and giving them a patented parent look before leaving the room. Stiles may be a full grown man with his own job and life, but he isn’t silly enough to believe that parents ever grow out of being parents.

 

“Well, I guess you have the father talk to look forward to, until then, would you like to continue necking like teenagers until breakfast is ready?” Stiles asks excitedly with a waggle of his eyebrows. Derek groans, muttering about idiots and what he got himself into but it all sounds fond and he sits on the couch next to him. Stiles makes a happy noise, easily scooting over and making up for weeks of skirting around one another. Well, that is - until a thought hits him.

 

“Oh my lord, I called it your  _ wolf den _ !”


End file.
